Harry Potter and the Dawn of Darkness
by Naralina
Summary: "The days of goodness and Light are done, The White Flame's candle spent. The Dark Sun rises! Beware the Serpent-Bearer, Where corrupted blood is made to look pure. Beware the child lost in darkness, Lest your soul be eternal damned..."
1. Unforgotten and Unforgiven

Harry Potter and the Dawn of Darkness ****

Harry Potter and the Dawn of Darkness

Disclaimer:About 99.999% of all this (characters, settings, etc) belongs to God **cough** errr….. I mean J.K. Rowling. The Petranni Characters, etc (a teeny bit of other things that will come up later) were all born of my insanity **cough** errr… I mean imagination, and belong to me.

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Author's Note:Well, here's my very first attempt at a genuine fanfic! Please keep in mind that it's been a long time, and I'm rather rusty, so I will get better, I promise! Anyway, please R & R, and enjoy! (yeah, right!)

Chapter One

Unforgotten and Unforgiven

Harry Potter opened his eyes. Something was definitely not right. He eyed his room, which looked as harmless and ordinary as ever, straining his mind. Getting up out of bed, he began to pace the room endlessly; looking about as though he might find what was bothering him in one of the dark and dusty corners. Harry thought back to Hogwarts, and what had happened only two months ago: the images that haunted his memory when he allowed himself to think about it, which was more often then he would like, for when you lived with the Dursleys your mind couldn't help but wander… Ah, the Dursleys, a trio if there ever was one… Well, let's see, first there was Uncle Vernon: a large, beefy, purple man whose idea of familial affection extended as far as not kicking that pesky nephew of his to the street corner where he belonged. Secondly there was Aunt Petunia: blonde, long-necked, horse-faced, and just as ugly as she was mean. Finally, let's not forget Dudley Dursley: big, blundering, and more stupid than he was fat (and believe me that's saying something!)

Mulling over this in his mind, he reminded himself of why the summer holidays always made him so miserable. Harry let out a soft groan as he eyed the colorful birthday cards that littered his bedside table, spilling out like a small sea. That was what he missed most about Hogwarts, his best friends, Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger. It was true that he'd had dozens of owls from both of them, true that he'd seen them both in Diagon Alley two weeks ago, but it just wasn't the same as having them here beside him. Without them, he could not distract himself from the pain he felt each day. Without them, the emptiness inside of him stretched on into eternity. Harry felt more alone than he ever had in absence of their presence, after all, weren't Ron and Hermione the only true family he had left? He let out a puff of air as he reminded himself that it would only be one more week until he would be redeemed with the sight of their faces.

When Harry turned the window however, his heart leapt at the sight of what looked like a fleet of owls. Zooming at the head of the line, leading the charge, was Pigwidgeon, looking rather like a gray ball of fluff caught in a wind that couldn't make up its mind as to which way it was blowing. To Harry's great surprise however, the thoroughly over-excited owl landed flawlessly on his left shoulder. "You've been working on that landing of yours I see," he laughed, accompanied of course by a chorus of Pigwidgeon's owlish song of pride, Hedwig's incessant clicking of disapproval, and the constant hooting of the other owls, each demanding to be noticed. "Alright, Alright, keep your feathers on," Harry chuckled as he untied Ron's letter and moved on to collect Hermione's, Sirius', and Hagrid's letters.

Harry waved the owls off as he tore open Sirius' letter, the temptation was too much to resist. It wasn't that Ron's, Hermione's, or Hagrid's letters were of any secondary importance, it was just that he so rarely got word from him, what with being both on the run from muggle and magical law-keepers, and part of the resistance it was understandable that Sirius didn't often have the time to write Harry, but it was disheartening all the same, as Sirius, he now thought, was the only link he had to his parents. He unfolded the letter eagerly, his hands shaking slightly with excitement, after all, Sirius had promised in his last owl that he would be writing Harry a longer letter. He read:

Dear Harry,

Well, I promised you that I'd write you a lengthier letter, so here it is. First and foremost, I wanted to remind you to stick by Ron and Hermione more than ever before, don't trust anyone, Harry; you don't know who may have turned. Just because someone may have been or seemed trustworthy before doesn't mean they are now. Voldemort inspires great chaos and strikes fear in the heart of the masses, and will attract many weak because of this. Even the good will turn if they have enough fear, need for stability, or if they feel they have no other choice. Watch for traitors all around you, there will be countless more than you can see, and all these turncoats will be looking for one thing to satisfy their master: you, Harry. That's why you can never go anywhere alone, wherever you go make certain that either Ron or Hermione, preferably both, are with you. Your safety is imperative, you have take every precaution possible, one slip and it can mean your life, Harry…

And the letter went on like this… Harry groaned, half-frustrated, half-amused, he should've known, he thought to himself, Sirius' letters were _always_ like that. Harry had yet to receive a letter from Sirius in which he did not give him at least five warnings. Harry had half-a-mind to pester Sirius that his latest correspondence sounded more like a scolding than a letter, but decided against it. He simply wrote:

Dear Sirius,

Look, I appreciate your concern, but I would appreciate it even more if you would not be so persistent with these warnings. One can only read "one slip and you're dead," so many times. You don't have to worry about me, just take care of yourself and keep well away from the dementors.

Everything has been going as usual here. Dudley's diet is continuing, though it looks as if he's actually gained twenty pounds in the last week. I've been keeping well out of Uncle Vernon's way, as he's been in a foul mood ever since Dudley made the basement-ceiling cave in just by stepping on a weak spot on the sitting room floor.

Harry paused, wondering briefly whether or not he should tell Sirius about the dreams he'd been having. Cringing guiltily, Harry once again decided not to, Sirius was worried, and if Harry told him… well, he didn't want to think about it. Thus, continuing, he wrote:

Don't worry about me. I'm perfectly fine, nothing has happened that is in any way out of the ordinary.

  * Harry

Harry thought that last bit over in his head "I'm perfectly fine, nothing has happened…" 'That's a lie and you know it' he scolded himself. One might have thought Harry had learned, that summer, that pretending that something didn't exist, that it never happened, wouldn't make it go away, at least, he had figured that out when it came to Cedric… 

The bitterness Harry felt was almost tangible. In the first few weeks back at the Dursleys', Harry could taste it in the air, the stiff of loss. Sometimes the atmosphere was so heavy he felt like there was a weight sitting on his chest, nearly crushing him. Harry was drowning, in what he wasn't quite sure, but he did know that if it didn't stop, he'd never be able to breathe again. Harry had thought that he had worked through his grief at Hogwarts, but he had been proven wrong. Not long following his return to the Dursleys' had Cedric's face begun to haunt Harry, indeed, he seemed to see him everywhere, standing by the fireplace, glaring through the window, and most disturbing of all was the sight of Cedric in the mirror, staring back at him. Piercing Harry with his gaze, the many Cedric's all wore the same expression, all had the same words playing on their ever-silent lips… "Why?"

Harry knew that it had to have been his imagination, but the thought didn't give him much more comfort. After all, while it was good to know that nothing was _really_ haunting you, it wasn't much of an improvement being trapped inside yourself, knowing that you're not even safe inside your own mind. Constantly running from his horrible thoughts, Harry spent these first three weeks trying to push Cedric out of his mind, to will away Cedric's face, Cedric's haunting eyes. Frightened almost to the point of madness, Harry sometimes slept through the entire day so that he wouldn't have to see Cedric again. One night in mid-July, however, had Harry managed to forever shake his demons. Sitting in bed, shaking and crying, sobbing like he'd never sobbed before in his life, Harry rocked like a small child, hoarsely choking on the words "I'm sorry Cedric, I'm so sorry…" With every particle of his being he had tried to scream out, tried to say something more, tried to unleash the incomprehensible agony in his soul, but it wouldn't come. "I'm sorry…" was all he could say. It was only then, when Harry finally let down his barriers and let it all in had Cedric's image ceased to haunt him. Harry discovered that if he hoped to overcome his grief, and the guilt that would always be there, he had to experience it first. Although by this point he had much healed, it still pained him to think of Cedric. Somehow, he knew that although his wounds would never truly heal, they would get better, get easier with time, until one day he could think back without an involuntary shudder.

However, there was something else, something else that had been haunting, stalking him only in his dreams. This something else was what he had avoided telling Sirius, or anyone else for that matter, something he kept in the more disturbed regions of himself, something he refused to think about even now, because he could not bear the thought of it, not when he was still recovering from last years events. Besides, he had reasoned, he hadn't had the dreams in two long weeks. Perhaps they had gone?

Harry sighed as he thought this all over in his mind, tying his response to Hedwig's leg, he would be glad to return to Hogwarts next week. He glanced about the room miserably before his eyes fell upon his friends' letters. Releasing a breath he hadn't even been aware that he was holding, Harry reached for one randomly. As he felt his hands run over the parchment of Hermione's letter, he felt he hadn't the energy or strength of heart for much else.

Dear Harry,

I've decided to come back home a little earlier than expected. Things here in Bulgaria are not going quite as well as I'd imagined.

How could Harry have forgotten? Hermione had told he and Ron quite nervously in Diagon Alley that she would be spending the remainder of her summer (minus a day or two) with Viktor Krum in Bulgaria.

I'll tell you about it on the train to Hogwarts next week, I'd rather not think about it at the moment, actually. I've gotten both you and Ron something from Bulgaria, but I'll have to give those to you on the train, I simply must see the looks on your faces when you unwrap them! The history here is fascinating, and what with the wizarding culture you'd think you were in a completely different world! I haven't really the time to elaborate. Hope all's well with you at your aunt and uncle's. Don't worry Harry, you'll be out of there and back at Hogwarts soon enough.

Love from,

Hermione

Harry thought her letter seemed a bit evasive. Indeed, it had been tactful of her not to mention Voldemort. He wondered vaguely just how much Hermione did know. Harry had noticed something odd in her last few owls, he got the distinct impression that she was keeping something from him, but as to what, he hadn't the slightest notion. Surrendering, he moved on to Ron's letter.

Hey Harry, 

Only one week left to go mate! Can you believe we're going to be fifth years already? And Hermione's a prefect!

Harry remembered Hermione's enthusiastic letter from a few weeks back. He hadn't told anyone about the letter he had gotten from the school. Harry didn't much feel like telling them that he too had been made a prefect just yet.

I still can't get over that! It just ruins everything. Having a prefect for a best friend, what will we do with her Harry?

Harry felt a stab of horror and guilt, what would Ron say when he found out that he had been made a prefect as well?

Did you hear about Hermione's coming back early? I wonder what's up with her. I guess we'll find out everything soon enough. Well, I've got to go, see you next Friday!

    * Ron

P.S: Wonder what Hermione's gotten us?

Slightly apprehensive, Harry reached for Hagrid's letter. Recognizing the all-too-familiar untidy scrawl, he unfolded the parchment and read:

Dear Harry,

Just wanted ter see how yeh was doin' mate. I know it must have been a hard summer fer yeh. I'm sorry I haven't written to yeh more often, but Professor Dumbledore's been keepin' me very busy – and don't ask me about that, because I still can't tell yeh, not now anyways. Don't you worry bout them muggles, Harry, yeh've not long ter spend with 'em before yeh're back a' Hogwarts. See you soon.

    * Hagrid

Harry was about to reply to all of these when he heard his stomach growl. Glad to have an excuse to put off a response, he changed and tore downstairs to breakfast. After his unfulfilling meal (if you could call it a meal), of a half of a celery stick (he had been punished for Dudley's latest weight gain), the day began to unfold.

The remainder of the morning and afternoon passed rather uneventfully. Harry was kept mildly busy as the Dursleys' fear of his godfather had not extended to prevent Harry from doing his regular menial chores around the house.

Harry rolled back into his bed a little late that evening, and, tired as he was, he pulled out his photo album. Smiling back at him from each and every page were his parents, Harry smiled melancholy back at them. Ever since his return to Privet Drive, he had made a nightly habit of delving deeply into his parents' pages, their faces. Each night he felt a tug at his heart, his parents, Lily and James Potter, it pained him how little he knew them. Harry sighed to himself, feeling a heavy sadness seep into him for what was not the first time. He would never admit it to anyone, he'd had enough trouble admitting it to himself, but somewhere in his secret heart of hearts, he felt a longing for them, for those people he'd never even known. Indeed, it felt as though Harry were missing a piece of himself, a piece of his soul, a piece of his heart. Without them, he was an incomplete human being. He wanted so badly to have known them in their lifetimes, to have known what it meant to have a mother and father who truly cared for him. If only wishes could come true…

Harry put away the album, not even bothering to tell himself not to waste his thoughts on impossible dreams. As he settled himself beneath his covers however, that old familiar feeling of uneasiness once again swept over him, it engulfed him so that he was swallowed whole. He was consumed instantly by an infinite, monstrous darkness. Something was definitely not right. Trying (and failing) to ignore that horrible, nagging feeling that something was terribly amiss, Harry hoped against hope that he was not about to have another of those dreams…

If only Harry had known what he was to see, he would have prayed for one of those dreams. But he was not quite so lucky; Harry Potter was about to experience something much worse than any dream…


	2. Intermundia

A/N: Alright, sorry this took so long, but I've still been suffering from a nasty bout of writer's block, and I did write the ending, so I got something done ****

A/N: Alright, sorry this took so long, but I've still been suffering from a nasty bout of writer's block, and I did write the ending, so I got _something_ done! I'm still not happy with this chapter, it was pretty difficult to force out, and I apologize once more for the lack of quality. This is a bit of an odd chapter, odd but necessary, you have been forewarned. I actually tried not to leave you with a cliffhanger, so there you go! ::grins::. Oh, and I almost forgot, this chapter is rated PG-13 for violence and bloody, gory stuff. Sorry, but it was a must, if this bothers you, read at your own risk, proceed with caution, but trust me, it's not that bad. Oh well, I guess I'd better shut up now and let you get reading my crap… **cough** … errrrr… I mean work… ;)

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Chapter Two

Intermundia

It was alarming from the moment it began, unlike many dreams, which usually start smoothly, luring the dreamer into a false sense of security and unreality. On the contrary, for the Boy Who Lived, everything that transpired that night was far too real… Too real to be a dream…

It began after many hours of dreamless blackness; for a long time all had been quiet and dark: almost peaceful. All of this however, was ended quite literally in a flash of lightning, green lightning in fact. Thunder split the silence as it rent the air. The quiet between this had only lasted for only a fleeting instant, and even this quiet had its own eeriness to it, an unnerving air to chill the frigid and misty atmosphere. Something, even concerning so fleeting an instant in all time and space, was chilling, horrific even about the silence, but it was nothing to what followed…

The green lightning rent the air, so bright and illuminating that even the sun seemed to cast a shadow, and divine, heavenly light seemed dark in comparison. Its fusion was so explosive it looked as though the very air would erupt into flames at any given moment. More vivid than anything Harry had ever seen before in his entire life, the simple molecules of the air were visible, each its own color, its own shade; each so disturbed and yet convoluted. It was as though each particle consisted of its own tiny, ever-expanding universe, colorful and evolving at a demonic rate, until each looked as though the slightest disturbance, the slightest imbalance would mean the apocalypse. Although this too had been brief in interval, its intensity would forever engrave into Harry's memory.

The thunder then split the sky so that every bit of the universe, each sub-particle, was doomed on its axis, shaken to the very essence of its being. The turbulence seemed to grow and grow, constantly spiraling horribly until the end of life as we know it seemed inevitable. Finally, the sky erupted into flames, flames so real and so painful that they could be none other than the fires of hell…

And there stood Satan himself. He was unmistakable in his snow white (ironically pure-looking considering its wearer) skin, his skeletal frame, his flat slit nostrils, and most horrifically his blood-red serpent eyes. Voldemort was standing before him, and somehow, at the same time, all around him. Bewildered beyond belief, Harry spun around, he tried to run, for what reason, even he was unsure, but to no avail, Voldemort was everywhere. Grinning horrifically, the Dark Lord fixed him with a glare that would have crippled the greatest of wizards, perhaps even Godric Gryffindor himself, but not Harry. Standing there in silence, shaking with a mixture of hatred, fear, fury, and defiance, Harry glared back at him with all the strength he could muster. A high, cold laughter rang through the air, and the brief moment of unnatural, uneventful silence came to a violent halt…

The flames around him changed from their natural orange, to poison green, poisoned blades filling the air surrounding the two rivals. "Welcome, Harry Potter to the third plane of existence," the snake-man grinned, "welcome to Intermundia." Harry wanted to retort, to say something awful, but that would've required constructive thought, something that had fled him the moment of his arrival. Indeed, all Harry seemed to be able to do was continue to glare at him with a mixture of the utmost loathing and monstrous disgust. Voldemort, choosing to ignore whatever sense he may have perceived from his foolish, cocky nemesis, continued, ever-smiling that demented grin. "Tongue tied are we, Harry? Don't worry, I shall fix that… Crucio!"

Harry was hit instantly with the all-too-familiar dose of pain. He was determined not to cry out, not to give Voldemort that sort of satisfaction, but all in vain. Indeed, he was quite helpless to stop the cries of agony escaping his mouth, nor could he blame himself, the pain was horrible, feeling like every atom in his body had split open and erupted in flames.

Eventually Harry stood up, shakily and tiredly, Harry had been hit with the curse several times beforehand, but he never got used to the searing pain, nor the achiness that followed; but then again, it was impossible to get used to the Cruciatus Curse. "What do you want with me?" he spat, his every syllable reverberating with a white-hot surge of hatred.

Voldemort however, did not seem bothered; in fact, he seemed more or less _amused_ at the murderous fire that raged in his enemy's eyes. "What do I _want_ with you? Oh come now Harry, that's an easy one… I want to kill you, of course… But I can't do that here, not now, when you are safe in your relations' bed" As if he could read Harry's mind, the Dark Lord continued, almost laughing… "Oh no, no, no! You're not dreaming, you fool, it's just that I can't…" he paused for a brief moment, "Ah! What a fool I have been! I've almost given away my little secret, " his eyes glinted dangerously, "we can't have that now, can we? I'm sorry Harry but I think I'll have to punish you for my near-little-slip!" He muttered something under his breath, and Harry realized with a stab of horror that the poisoned knives were shooting at him from every direction. Before he'd had time to officially panic however, they dug themselves into him, allowing the poison to seep into his bloodstream, before painfully wrenching themselves free of his skin and repeating the process. Over and over again, for what seemed like an eternity, the million-strong blades stabbed him, slashed him, cut him through and through until not an inch of flesh remained unscathed; some even slipped inside the gashes they had made, stabbing him from the inside, not relenting for what could not have been less than two hundred years. The pain was unbearable, a million times worse than the Cruciatus Curse – if that was possible, he was burning from the inside out, his body being ripped into a thousand pieces, Basilisk fangs ripping at his every nerve. If Harry could have thought, he would have said to himself, "Is this death?"

When at last the Dark Lord drew away the knives, and watched as the boy struggled for a half-an-hour to stand, Harry felt the poison kick in at last. It felt as if every millimeter of skin was rotting away, and, horrified, he looked down to see a tiny green hole in his toe slowly grow as it ate away at his flesh. As Lord Voldemort once again began to speak, Harry's helpless body erupted in green flames, but Harry saw through them as an insane-looking Dark Lord began to form words with his mouth.

"I suppose you're wondering, then, oh 'Boy Who Lived,'" he spat contemptuously, "why it is that I've brought you here? Well… I just thought I'd have a little fun with you in your last ever summer alive, and to throw you a bone, Harry… Yes, I thought it might be amusing to give you a bit of a sporting chance," he laughed coldly, "I've decided to warn you."

With a wave of his wand there appeared beside him a woman, at least Harry thought it was a woman, who filled up the sky in front of him as though she held the entire universe in her hands. Her image however, was so incredibly blurry that all Harry could properly make out seemed to be, aside from what must have been reddish hair, bright, vivid yellow-green which seemed to be streamlining (like floodlights in a fog) from what must have been her eyes.

When she spoke, her voice reverberated as though it was being repelled and reflected by everything in "Intermundia," as Voldemort had called it, everything from the tiny particles in the atmosphere to Lord Voldemort himself, so that the words were, while clear and loud over their numerous echoes, born of an unrecognizable voice that sounded deep and misty.

__

"Long ago, the birth of the Raven

Saw the set of the Golden Dawn.

In the wake of death,

Was born a soul forever lost in darkness.

Two children:

Son and Daughter,

Dark and Light;

Within them there wages an eternal battle:

Dark and Light forever clash:

Each will choose a child,

Beware the pitched battle!

Set against one another – 

Doomsday approaches!

The Roman Girl…

The Common Boy…

Both blind…

Both doomed…

The World is on their shoulders!

The delicate thread of life,

More fragile than ever,

Dependent on one point…

Only the lost soul can save the children

From a fate of tears – 

Worldy tears to mourn them.

Save from death,

Nothing absolves the plight of the Dark Child,

The terror in its wake…

When the balance is shifted,

When the children are split – 

The future is forever plunged in Darkness…

And the apocalypse approaches."

The voice then paused, but when it continued, the woman's mouth, or at least what looked like her mouth, was moving far too fast for the words escaping it, and the voice became less misty, but deeper, more intimate, more threatening… The message now seemed to be personal…

__

" The days of goodness and Light are done,

The White Flame's candle spent.

The Dark Sun rises!

Beware the Serpent-Bearer,

Where corrupted blood is made to look pure,

Beware the child lost in Darkness…

Lest your soul be eternal damned…"

Her chilling words echoed louder and louder until it seemed that Harry's ears would explode. The little hairs on the back of his neck stood on end as her image burst into bright red flames as she transformed. Her cackle became higher and higher until it at last changed tone (and thus gender), and Harry saw, she had become Lord Voldemort. The many Dark Lords laughed their menacing laugh, louder and louder as he spoke, all at once. "I just thought I'd give you fair warning, Potter, see the look on your face…" Harry saw a thousand images of faces flash before his eyes across Intermundia in a split second… "Just thought I'd let you know… And I would watch out for all your little friends: mudblood and muggle-lover, your precious Dumbledore, your dear Godfather and his friend… everyone… You have no idea what I could do to them!" His cold, high laugh erupted into green flames that engulfed Intermundia as he spoke these last chilling words, and Harry suddenly sat bolt upright in bed…

However, Harry didn't even have the chance to try and convince himself that it was all a dream, because he suddenly realized he was drenched in blood… As his eyes flew around the room, he saw that that last personal message was written large, gleaming red in blood on the wall opposite him, and that his quills were flying around the room, writing furiously on spare parchment, all of their own accord. The room flashed violently green and Harry saw them coming through the wall, into the room, closer to him… They were dead bodies, corpses with murder in their eyes, gleaming in fresh blood, all with their arms outstretched, all fast approaching Harry… He recognized them, his parents, Ron, Hermione, the Weasleys, the Grangers, Sirius, the Gryffindors, Cho, Cedric, the Dursleys, Lupin, Dumbledore, _Tom Riddle_, everyone he knew, and even some people he didn't – all bloody corpses, and fast approaching him, whispering and shouting things Harry couldn't understand. He looked up to see the ceiling suddenly begin to rain blood, and felt cold, strong hands grip his head forcefully from behind. With a stab of horror and hatred Harry saw Lord Voldemort standing above him, his gleaming scarlet eyes, and his long, white hands forced Harry's head down to watch the angry dead approach.

Suddenly, his fear-widened-eyes narrowed with irrepressible anger, and without warning, without really knowing why, taking even himself by surprise, Harry shouted: "AVADA KEDAVRA!"

All disappeared in a flash of green light, and Harry suddenly found his eyes growing heavy. Having almost no choice in the matter, he felt himself fall back onto the pillows and all grew dark as he shut his eyes and suddenly fall fast asleep…

Harry awoke the next morning to find himself panting deeply, and bathed in cold sweat. Sitting up in bed, feeling achy all over, he attempted to comfort himself… "It was all a dream," he told himself, breathing deeply, "it was all just a dream." Or was it?…

Harry saw parchment on his bedside table, and his heart temporarily stilled as he saw written in fresh ink:

__

" The days of goodness and Light are done,

The White Flame's candle spent.

The Dark Sun rises!

Beware the Serpent-Bearer,

Where corrupted blood is made to look pure,

Beware the child lost in Darkness…

Lest your soul be eternal damned…"

Eyes wide with terror, Harry brought the parchment over to his wardrobe where he flung open the door… Dropping the parchment limply, it took all his strength not to scream out against the shock… In his mirror he was reflected, and every inch of skin bore deep, green scars… He was more mangled than Mad-Eye Moody.

~**~_~**~_~**~

A/N: Wow, that chapter was rather odd wasn't it, I knew it would be strange but I didn't think it would end up being _that strange_, it just came out that way. As I said before, this was a very awkward, forced chapter, so I once again apologize for the lack of quality. Normally, I would thank you each personally for your review, but as it's 1:45 AM and I have to get up early I don't have the time, however I promise to do so in the next chapter. Thus, momentarily this will have to do: Thank you to all my reviewers for your love, support, and constructive criticism. Getting so many reviews in such a short time has made me soooooo happy I can't even tell you, whether bad or good, reviews make me smile from ear to ear, and now I understand Ady and other fanfiction writer's insatiable thirst for them. Shout out to all my Riddles, hehe, you know who you are and it was you who gave me the courage to go ahead with this idea in the first place so I wanted to thank you especially for your love and support, you guys are all awesome writers! See you soon! ……… luv, Naralina


	3. The Journey

Author's Note: Alright, I'm sorry this took so long, but I wasn't allowed back online until after the fifteenth, even though I had this chapter done about a week earlier ****

Author's Note: Alright, I'm sorry this took so long, but I wasn't allowed back online until after the fifteenth, even though I had this chapter done about a week earlier. This is my longest ever chapter so far, not that I expect the next one to be any longer, or just as long for that matter. I played around with perspective in this chapter, just to give it a little bit more depth and fight off the boredom that seems to ensue, as this chapter is one of those relatively dull, in-between chapters. Quite a few things happen, Harry's misery finally lets up, I lose all seriousness in the beginning when I have an argument with him, we learn some things about Hermione's stay in Bulgaria, a new student arrives at Hogwarts (though we learn more about her in the next chapter), and we take a trip into the minds of Lord Voldemort himself, and everyone's favorite (not!) Potions Master Severus Snape. What else, we get to see things through the eyes of Hermione and Ron (extremely briefly b/c I was really tired) as well. In this chapter you get to see from different perspectives quite a bit more than I would normally do, as I can assure you that future chapters will be more from Harry's perspective, because I like third person semi-omniscient, keeping things mainly from Harry, but throwing in other perspectives. I also might, as I did in this chapter, throw in a first person perspective every once in a while, just 'cause. Well, surprise, surprise, I hate this chapter too, another piece of "work" that is severely lacking in quality, but I would get used to it if I were you, because, perfectionistic as I am, there will be very few chapters that satisfy me. Anyways, I'd better let you get to reading, enjoy (uh-huh, sure, right! – that was sarcasm if you couldn't tell) and review please! Thanks.

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Chapter Three

The Journey

Luckily for Harry, his skin began to heal within a matter of days, and he was able to use his horrific appearance to his advantage. Purely out of terror, as the fact that Vernon Dursley could ever feel any true concern for him was highly doubtful, his uncle had asked him the next morning what had gone wrong with his worthless, putrid hide. Ignoring the nagging, timid voice in the back of his mind that was still horrified, Harry decided he'd have a bit of fun with this…

"Oh, what?… Oh, this," he said, indicating his face, "that's nothing… It was just that last night my godfather decided to pop in; he was getting worried about me see, thought I was getting mistreated or something… Anyhow, it was so dark he didn't even recognize me, and he attacked me… You have no idea how upset he was when he realized he had attacked _me_! Who was it he said he was after again?…" Harry couldn't suppress a grin, and, struggling to fight down fits of hysterical laughter, he allowed the silence to spiral horribly before continuing. " 'Vernon Dursley' I think he said… Yeah, but he's fixed almost all of the damage by now, this is nothing…" This was almost _too much_, Uncle Vernon blanched so that his face seemed to be made of lumpy porridge, and Aunt Petunia had dropped her glass serving tray and shattered not only the Dursleys' "breakfast," but her favorite afternoon – number one – neighborhood – spying – binoculars. Dudley, meanwhile, had given a yelp and suddenly crawled under the table and began to bark like a dog. 'Okay,' Harry suddenly directed his thoughts at the narrator, yours truly, in what I might add was a _very_ insolent, disrespectful tone of sarcasm, 'yeah, that makes _so_ much sense!'

I cut him off, 'Hey, it's my story here! Just because I didn't invent you I can still do whatever I want! I would watch your step if I were you, Mr. Harry – ungrateful – insolent – disobedient – protagonist – Potter, after all, I could make you slow-dance with Snape wearing polka-dotted boxers and a chicken on your head if I really wanted to!'

Well, this telepathic argument went on for quite some time before we both realized that we were talking in our heads to voices that didn't even exist, and each decided to concern ourselves with our own respective real worlds. Meanwhile however, something far more important was happening…

~**~_~**~_~**~

The Dark Lord twirled his wand lazily between his fingers, considering whether or not he should kill Nott this week. He decided to let the brainless, spineless, sniveling idiot live for a little bit longer: who knows, maybe he would actually be of some _use_ one day? Voldemort sneered at the thought of Casius Nott ever being of any use to anyone. His thoughts were interrupted however, when the very subject of his disgust burst in uninvited.

"My Lord," the short, round, oily-looking Casius Nott sputtered stupidly, "_it_ has happened!"

"_What_ has happened, Nott?" Voldemort inquired, unable to hide the impatience in his voice. He could not believe that there were so many brainless morons in the world… Indeed, if he hadn't needed these putrid lowlifes to do his dirty work, he would have killed them all long ago. His mood brightened considerably however, as he envisioned the whole lot of them, Casius Nott especially, writhing in agony, perhaps burning in a fire, perhaps being stabbed by poisoned knives, perhaps suffering under the Cruciatus Curse. His unnervingly twisted grin grew as he thought this through, indeed, torture was the Dark Lord's specialty.

He seemed to be staring past the slimy Death Eater before him, who was flinching at the dementia in his master's eyes, the twisted smile, the sweet venom in his voice, as Voldemort repeated himself. "_What_ exactly was it you said happened, Casius?"

Nott seemed fixated on getting as far away from his master as possible, so he blundered on his short, breathless words, and Voldemort watched in disgust as his most _obviously_ reluctant follower shuddered as he approached him. "The… The Prophecy! My Lord, the, the Girl, she is…"

"I know perfectly well about the Girl and her arrival at Hogwarts! Are you thick enough to think that I see this as a threat? This is possibly the greatest opportunity we've yet had, fool!" Filled with rage, the Dark Lord eyed his numb-skulled Death Eater with the utmost loathing, watching him as he shivered violently and compulsively, too disgusted to teach him a lesson in respect. "You are dismissed, Nott. You will not be punished today."

His hatred mounted as the Death Eater crawled forward, kissing the hem of his robes with a feigned reverence, muttering "Of course, thank you My Lord, you are most gracious!" He was not a fool, what kind of idiot did this pathetic excuse for a human being take him for? He knew very well what Casius Nott really thought of him.

"Get out of here, Nott! Leave me!… Before I change my mind…" He watched as the Death Eater, abandoning all pretense, ran for the door. Too late. "Crucio!" he roared, slightly satisfied as he watched Casius writhe, flail, and scream in the agony of a pain the world would never know. He had put in an extra special bit of power and anger as he held the curse for an unprecedented fifteen minutes. The Death Eater scrambled out of the room, and Voldemort glared angrily at the gray stone walls of his desolate throne room, punching the arm of his raised throne, reminding himself that he needed as many of those spineless slimeballs as possible. He smiled however, as he thought of how sweet it would feel, the day he would finally kill Casius Nott.

~**~_~**~_~**~

Severus Snape slammed the dungeons door behind him. How could this be happening to him again? He had missed the Defense Against the Dark Arts position AGAIN! The very thought of this, being shunted to the side every year for over ten years, filled him with an irrepressible rage and sorrow. Didn't Dumbledore trust him? Was this a punishment for the ugliness of his past? No… Somehow Severus knew, Dumbledore would never do such a thing to him… But what _was_ it then?… Didn't they think he was good enough?

Severus groaned, no one ever thought he was good enough for anything! 'They're all still angr with me because I don't have their goody-two-shoes past… So I've made a few mistakes in my life,' he thought angrily to himself, 'but who hasn't?! I have proved countless times that I am worthy of trust, haven't I?… And what has it brought me? Where has it gotten me? Nothing and Nowhere! They wouldn't think two seconds before giving Potter the job if he were in my place… Perfect James Potter…' He thought bitterly of his old school rival. 'Always got what he wanted. Always got away with everything. Always had everything… Perfect James Potter, he had it all… the affections of every girl… the talent on the quidditch field… the popularity… _He_ was well-liked by _everyone_ in the school, he even had the favor of all the teachers!… Which, no doubt, was how he ended up as Head Boy… The 'Great' James Potter… Well, he was never so great nor so kind to _me_! His friends were always all too happy to give me a bruise or two… Heck, he even made _my_ friends turn their backs on me! I could rot in hell for all they cared, just as long as Potter's shoes didn't get dirty!' He shuddered as he remembered that incident in fifth year when Black and Pettigrew had roughed him up 'probably on Potter's orders,' he had thought, and for no apparent reason at all… And there stood his best friends all around him, _laughing_ at him as he struggled to fight them off… The memory of it still cut like a knife, and he felt the hurt penetrate all the way down to his soul.

Was that a tear he just felt running down his cheek? No, it couldn't be… He, Severus Snape, NEVER EVER cried, especially not over James Potter, he would _never_ give him that kind of satisfaction, never… He could just see Potter smirking at him, knowing he had hurt him. He had always had that arrogant grin about him, strutting around the school as though he owned the place, which, Severus reminded himself, 'he practically did, after all, he had all the teachers in the palm of his hand…'

Everyone had always said, "if you would just be a bit kinder…" But what reason did he have to be kind to Potter?… Potter had always treated him as though he were something foul that had been dirtying his over-shined shoes… And anyhow, if he was ever kind to Potter, or any of his friends for that matter, God knows how they would have taken advantage of it! The vulnerability he'd be opening up!… And there was _no way_ he would ever open up a vulnerability to James Potter, who knew what that git would do to him!… And Potter never did any of the dirty work himself: he always sent his henchmen, Black and Pettigrew, to do all those horrid things that were "beneath" him. Even in death, he was sure James was laughing at him: even in death, that Potter had everything, and he had nothing at all… Some things never change.

'Everyone knows I'm the best man for the job,' he thought to himself, 'but that doesn't seem to matter to them, does it? I've gone through hell and back again in my life; I've seen more pain and suffering than most people, but that doesn't matter to them. I've had my rough spots, but I've cleaned myself up, I've picked myself up again, and done things nobody else could ever do, but does it matter? No! Nothing matters to them… Everytime they see Severus Snape all they see is a Death Eater, and no matter what I do, nothing ever changes that!'

Full of miserable rage, he kicked an empty student desk as he glanced around the room bitterly. Sometimes he just felt like screaming.

~**~_~**~_~**~

Harry had just loaded his trunk into his compartment. It was Friday, September 1, 1995, and he was finally returning to Hogwarts. He had been a bit early, and decided to check his reflection once more before venturing back down onto the platform. He wanted to make sure all the green scars were really gone… He let out a sigh of relief; his face looked just as it had before his little "venture" into Intermundia. Yes, it was true, the scars had begun to fade quite rapidly in the days after the "incident," but his memory of Intermundia was beginning to fade with them as well, until at last he barely remembered anything at all. He had thrown the note bearing the threatening message in his trunk, he'd figure out what to do with it later… He felt that he'd rather not think about it just yet, after all, although the scars on his skin had vanished without a trace, they still left marks where they had pierced something much deeper than flesh.

He breathed a sigh of relief as he saw the friendly faces he had so longed to see cross through the barrier. He rushed out onto the platform to meet them, hurrying much more than he needed, although he wasn't quite sure why, but he didn't care. He grinned as he saw them: they looked exactly as he remembered them, and they were badgering each other about something. Harry couldn't help but laugh out loud as he saw them bicker, it was good to know in this world of constant, ever-altering images and truths, that some things never change.

It was when he laughed that they noticed him, and Harry almost doubled over at the looks on their faces. Hermione squealed "Oh, Harry, we were so worried…" and nearly strangled him in her choke-hold-cobra-strength-squeezing hug, but Harry didn't care. His grin widened as he she released him and Ron smiled uncertainly back at him, seemingly a bit awkward as he greeted Harry, after all, wasn't hugging more of a _girl_ thing? But Harry was far too happy to care about what anyone thought of him, and squeezed Ron in a tight embrace before he slap-punched him on the back. Filled with an ever-mounting euphoria, he hooked his arms around his friends' necks… And as the trio walked, arms around each other's shoulders, up to the scarlet steam engine, Harry, Hermione on his left, Ron on his right, felt freed as all his worries, nerves, fears, and anxieties fled him, and felt his spirit soar. With Ron and Hermione by his side, he had all he needed in life, and he couldn't have been happier.

~**~_~**~_~**~

We weren't long on the train before the inevitable happened… Ron started badgering me about the presents… I rolled my eyes and told him he'd just have to wait until after lunch, but I couldn't help smiling, it was just like Ron to do something like that…

It was a good thing we had the entire compartment to ourselves, because the noise was louder than even Fred and George could make. I was exhausted, as I had just gotten in from Bulgaria not long ago, but happy… We talked happily about anything and everything on the journey to Hogwarts, almost enough in fact to make Harry and Ron forget about Bulgaria and their presents. Almost, that is, but not quite…

As soon as we had eaten, Harry and Ron started shooting their trademark sideward glances at each other, and when they gave me that look I just knew they hadn't forgotten… So much for that… Sighing exasperatedly, I reached into the bag next to me and pulled out two muggle-wrapped Bulgarian presents as I handed them over, grining slyly… Although no one may agree with the things I pick out for myself, I'm well known for my talent at finding just the perfect gift for others. I watched anxiously as Ron tore open his present, I just couldn't wait to see the looks on their faces when they saw…

Suddenly, Ron gave an audible squeak (I'll never let him forget that) of excitement as his eyes met with the Gerviddean Iarotvotch's Triple Snap Exploding Paw I had gotten him.

"Oh wow Hermione! This is practically a legend! I've always wanted… I can't wait to see the looks on Fred and George's faces…" Ron seemed at a loss for words, and, needless to say, drifted off dreamily.

I explained the concept to Harry. "It's sort of a twist on the legend of the Monkey's Paw, and I bought it against my better judgement I might add… What it does is it grants the beholder three wishes… But not just any three wishes… It only grants prank wishes, lets you do things to your enemy, or any given target, anything you like, just by thinking about it, and it can not be traced back to you. The effects are temporary, they last until you've expended all three wishes… This time though, unlike its legendary muggle counterpart, there are no strings attached, at least that's what the dealer said… He seemed honest and I thought it worth the risk… What's the worst that could happen anyway?" I gave Harry a bit of a grin, although I was struggling to conceal how nervous this business truly made me.

"You could make Malfoy broke for a day, or Snape wear his underwear on his head while doing circus acts, or make McGonagall think you're God… Well, Ron's more imaginative then I am." I gave an involuntary shudder, wondering just what had possessed me to buy this, God only knows what Ron would do, "I'm sure he'll find something… Oh, and I almost forgot, when you've used up all three wishes the whole thing explodes and transforms your choice of room into a festive chamber for one night, turning your ideal vision of a party into a reality."

I raised my eyebrows at Harry to match his appraising look, and urged him to open his present. I grinned as I watched Harry's face light up with the perfect mixture of excitement and absolute euphoria. "Oh wow, Hermione! I, I… I don't know what to say… I…" His eyes were bugged out of their sockets, glittering hungrily, and his jaw had dropped, his glasses dangling off his nose, his mouth was hanging open as he examined The Ultimate Quidditch Kit. Inside a hard black box with silver lettering was not only collectibles of various famous snitches, quaffles, and uniforms, but autographs of famous players, a book on quidditch tactics, a magical sort of virtual reality quidditch tactics field and planner, alongside a magical virtual reality quidditch training simulator, the same one that professionals use, that keeps you up to speed on the latest quidditch news, lets you watch famous games as though you were in the stands, and helps you train, keeping track of your progress and always giving you professional tips. The moment I saw it in _Professional Choice Quidditch Pitch_ in Bulgaria, apparently these things aren't nearly as expensive there as they are in England, I knew it was the perfect gift for Harry. The question now was how I was going to outdo myself come Christmastime; but I would worry about that later. 

Both boys gaped dreamily for a long time at their gifts, each stolen away into their own world, and I was thankful for this, as it allowed me to steal a good glance at Ron. I had come to terms with the fact that I had feelings for the boy in Bulgaria, and now as I faced him, all I could do was stare. I must've slipped off myself, because even Harry noticed I was staring before I realized it myself, fixing me with an appraising look of amusement and raised eyebrows. I tried to look away, goodness knows I could feel my skin growing red by the second, probably even more vivid than Ron's hair, but it was very hard, I could feel his eyes on me. 'But what in the world am I going to do,' I thought to myself, as I struggled to convince my body to stay put in my seat, instead of belting out of the compartment like it wanted to do, 'now Harry must know! Oh God, this is _so_ embarrassing, I can't believe I let myself slip like that. Stupid me, I've ruined everything!' 

It didn't take long, however, for Harry to slip back into his own world of quidditch, while Ron was only beginning to slip back into reality."I can't believe this Hermione, this is one of the best presents I've ever gotten! Who knew you had such good taste?!" Needless to say, he was nothing short of thrilled, so thrilled in fact that he gave me a hug, which left me with an oddly pleasant trembling feeling as I tried to decipher the odd looks he was giving me. Harry too, slipped back into reality and hugged me in thanks, and I sat thoroughly satisfied with myself, hoping they would forget to ask about Bulgaria…

Nope, they didn't…I knew it was going to happen anyway though, but I still felt very unprepared to answer the question of why I had been so unhappy there. "Oh, that…" I said in a feigned surprise that I'm sure fooled no one, "I thought you'd never ask!"… Hoped you'd never ask more like it… "Well, how do I say this… Viktor's family really isn't such pleasant company after all, and Viktor, well he…"

Ron was four steps ahead of me and in the wrong direction too, being his usually over-protective self (who could expect anything else?) he jumped ahead and cut me off… "He didn't try anything did he? Because if he tried anything I swear I'll…"

"No, Ron, of course he didn't!" I said, appalled. "It's just that the Krum family isn't that fond of muggle-borns, and when they found out about my parentage, well, they tried to kick me out…"

"What?"

"Yes, they threatened me with a… er… a multitude of things, if I didn't leave right on the spot, but Viktor convinced them to let me stay on. Every day they found some new way to try and get rid of me, like once his younger brother put flesh-eating slugs in my bed, and his twin sister and her friends threw me in a mud pit while Viktor was out on an errand and left me there for hours…" I shivered as I remembered…

__

It was a gray and stormy morning, Viktor had run off for a few hours to do some errands, leaving me all alone at the mercy of his twin sister Marishka and her friends Helga, Zosia, Eva, and Ana. I had only been in Bulgaria for a few days, but I was sensible enough to know to keep out of their way, I knew that they didn't like me and something about the five of them alone, having the run of the house rubbed me the wrong way. In any case, Mister and Missus Krum had taken the two younger children, David and Erika, shopping in town, leaving me alone with Marishka and her goons. 

I woke up rather late, the cloud-covered sunlight pouring carelessly through the window of the guest bedroom, my gut telling me not to leave my chamber, a feeling that I should have paid more attention to. I pushed all the uneasiness to the back of my mind, and after I made myself a quick breakfast, set about their spacious-yet-modest manor in the last places I thought Marishka and her friends might have been… I was no fool, I knew it was best to put as much space between us as possible. Looking up at the overcast, darkening sky, I knew yet another storm was approaching, and so I figured they would most likely be indoors, after all, no one wants to stay out in the middle of a brutal Bulgarian storm… No one that is, except for me, it was perhaps a mark of my loathing for them, and just how horrible they could be, that I would take a Bulgarian storm over the sight of their faces, over their torments, any day. I set out for the woods, 'the better the place to take shelter from the storm,' I thought to myself, stupidly believing that if I kept out of their way, they would have the decency to steer clear of me as well… What a fool I was…

No sooner had I reached the wood than did I find myself enveloped in unfriendly voices. It was Marishka I heard first, her voice was chillingly high for a nineteen year old, like a child's.

"Hey Mudblood, come on over here, we've got something to show you!" She had a horribly haunting way of speaking, and she spoke English flawlessly, she had the accent down in spades. Hearing her voice, it was impossible to believe that she was not a native of England at all, which, as I'm sure she knew, made her torture seem all the worse to me.

I started to turn back, I was not going to answer to that sort of language. I kept my head held high as I turned my back on them, trying to walk at a slow pace, cool and confident, although my gut was telling me to run, and fast… "Oh come on Hermione," came Eva's voice, nearly as adept at speaking and sounding English as Marishka, "don't you like us?" They cackled with laughter at this, and I sped up slightly, willing them not to come after me, willing myself not to show any sign of the fear and adrenaline that was coursing through my nearly frozen blood.

"Oh come now Hermione, now you're just being rude… Don't you know how much we like you? C'mon, I thought we were friends, I'm hurt!" Zosia mocked expertly, she too had come into near perfection in her English, and she had a way with her voice like no other I'd ever heard, so much nastiness and ice was encased in her every word; but no one, of course, could compare with Marishka, who could never remain silent for long…

"I'm disappointed in you, Mudblood, I thought you'd had more brains than this, but I guess I was wrong, how foolish of me to think any Muggle-born could outwit even a dog." I trembled with anger, no one, and I mean NO ONE insults my_ intelligence, it was practically all I had. Marishka gave up the taunting-act, and shouted after me "Hey Mudblood! I told you to do something! Now get over here and do it before I make you," she snarled, satisfied, through gritted teeth. "Alright, you want to be difficult, I suppose we'll have to do this the hard way then…"_

Before I knew it Helga had grabbed me 'round the middle, and when I tried to fight her iron grasp she punched me in stomach, hard… It was like being hit with a fifty ton block of cement, for Helga, who could barely string together two English words and was abysmally stupid, was so big and goonish that she seemed a frightfully accurate female version of a carbon copy of a combined Crabbe and Goyle. In just another moment I was on my feet, surrounded by the horrible five, and Marishka explained as the others, including, unfortunately, Helga, proceeded to kick, punch, and bruise me until not an inch of healthy flesh was apparent. "That was for your insubordination Muggle! Next time you'd better obey if you know what's good for you!" I looked up at her, she was very pretty, with long raven hair and cinnamon colored eyes with olive skin to match. She was tall and slender, but any beauty she had was of the mean sort, as her eyes seemed to glint with some sort of evil radiance; her looks radiated an aura of power and darkness. Ana, who spoke English well, but with a somewhat-thick Bulgarian accent, was not that much different, slightly shorter and skinnier, her skin was darker and her hair shorter, but her expression was softer. Zosia and Eva however, were fairer… Eva had long, platinum, curly hair, silvery eyes, and a pointed, white-as-snow face; she looked runty, and had a chilling resemblence to Draco Malfoy. Zosia, on the other hand had a muddy sort of olive-gone-pale flesh tone, her poison-green eyes had a malicious, mischievous glint to them, and her mean face was framed with long, dark-golden colored wavy locks. She was considerably taller than Eva, but somehow seemed just as nasty in that runty manner. 

I glared up at them, my eyes burning with hatred and defiance. I refused to give them the sort of satisfaction such as to speak with them, to let them play with me, and in any case I didn't trust my mouth to keep from letting on how much pain they were really causing me: and I would never_ let them know how much they were hurting me. I spat at Marishka, cunning and rotten to the core, nastiest of the lot, she was always the ringleader. They marched me forcibly to a clearing in the forest, where there was a freshly dug mud pit, pushing me along the way as Zosia and Eva, who seemed to share a brain, shoved and kicked me while mocking me, scolding that I was not walking fast enough. When we reached the pit, which I stood directly on the edge of, Helga, like a bouncer, was directly behind me, Marishka directly across from me, and Ana, Zosia, and Eva were surrounding me on all sides. They scooped up mud from the edges of the pit, which, to my horror, I now saw was filled with spiders and other sorts of vermin. Then their fun really began, as they hurled the filth at me, throwing spiders in my hair, surrounding me so closely that I had no way of fighting back, no way of escaping. It was all I could do not to burst into angry tears, could it possibly get any worse? It could and it did… They laughed as if they could read my mind, cruel and horrid their harpie-cackles were, in one word: haunting. It was (surprise, surprise) Marishka who spoke for them._

"What's the matter Hermione, don't you like it here?" she taunted, "Or perhaps you would feel more comfortable amongst your own kind, down in the dirt and filth where you belong, Mudblood!" As one, they flung me into the pit, the pit crawling with vermin. "And stay down there! You're not welcome up here, amongst humans!" They cackled tauntingly and left me in there, in the ten-foot deep mud pit. I was completely and utterly helpless and alone, with no way to escape. As if this wasn't enough, at the very moment that they must've reached the indoors, the skies finally broke loose. The clouds unleashed a torrent of rain, so monsoon-like that it seemed as though it was coming down as a solid wall, not in droplet-form, the lightning illuminated the whole sky and burned down quite a few isolated trees and buildings, and the thunder was explosive. I knew instantly that Viktor would be stuck in town for hours now, and that no one would come to my rescue. The sheets of rain were so thick that, aside from the fact that what with the wind everything above the ground must have been blinding, it forced huge slabs of mud to crumble into the pit as it filled with water so that it became so thick that it would be impossible to swim in, barely possible even to move in. They left me there for hours on end, and the mud-thickened-water was rising fast, it was above my nose before anyone came to get me, as I struggled to surface a bit so I could breathe. I was going to die if someone didn't come to my rescue soon, I was going to drown. That and 'I won't cry, I won't cry, I WILL NOT CRY,' seem all I can remember thinking. It was Missus Jana Krum that finally pulled me out, and only because she knew Viktor would be returning soon; otherwise, I knew, they had no qualms about leaving me to die in that pit. I had to get out of there. 

Fighting back tears and biting my lip, the middle-age woman dragged me into the house where she healed my bruises (as slowly and painfully as possible) and threw me into the shower, telling me that I had better clean myself up and look nice for Viktor by the time he returned, and that if I so much as breathed a word of this out of line, I would pay for it dearly. As much as I hated to oblige, I cleaned myself up, I made myself look nice, and I even forced a smile, not for my own sake, but for Viktor's… He and I had become good friends, nothing more of course, though I suspected he may have felt that way, and I was determined to spare him the agony of knowing the truth, the knowledge of which could absolve nothing and cause only pain, knowledge that would only satisfy his family, as they would've known how much damage they had done. I waited until nightfall, when I was sure everyone was asleep, to finally let the tears come. I cried each night in this manner, drowning in my tears, praying for the day I could escape from this hell I was in.

I shuddered violently as I recalled this, my most horrible moment, and continued, omiting not only this memory but a great deal of other things. "Even his parents were in on it, they told me that if I didn't watch my step, especially around their pureblood son and family, they'd make sure some of their friends in high places would put me away for good… I was scared out of my wits, and I left at the first chance I got, saying that my grandmother had fallen ill. Viktor seemed a bit put out, I never told him what they did to me…" I gave an involuntary shudder, the truth was that there was more to that story, that I had heard a lot of things I wasn't meant to hear while down in that pit, but I was determined not to tell these things to anyone, especially not Harry, not yet, when he was only beginning to cheer up, I could always tell them later…

~**~_~**~_~**~

Harry couldn't believe what he had heard. He had known that there was a lot of hatred for muggle-borns in certain places, but he never knew it to be _that_ bad. Something about Hermione's story made him feel a white-hot surge of anger, he couldn't believe that there were people out there who would do that to someone just because their parents were a little bit different. The very thought of it made him want to kick something, punch something, cause some sort of damage to get back at the cosmos for hurting his friend so badly. He could see it in her eyes, the pain she felt, cutting sharp as a steely blade, and it made him more angry than he could ever imagine. Harry however, bit back his tongue and decided not to say anything, indeed he didn't know what to say, as his anger seemed beyond all words, and in any case, he didn't trust himself not to do anything stupid. That seemed to be the general consensus, Harry watched as Hermione sat, slightly shaken, and Ron next to her was most obviously brooding, so angry that he was maroon and visibly trembling.

Indeed, no one said anything for a very long time, until at last Harry spoke and acted before he could stop himself. With a wave of his wand he soundproofed the compartment and turned to Ron before asking "Ron, what have I missed while I've been with the muggles? I want to know everything that's happened. You have no idea how insufferable it is, being kept away from all of this! Voldemort could've murdered half the wizarding world and you wouldn't know the difference," he spat disgustedly.

Ron flinched a bit, and had a strange look in his eyes; he spoke in an odd manner, with a sort of grave interest. "That's the thing Harry, almost nothing's happened!"

"What do you mean?" Harry asked, shocked and confused. He noticed that Hermione didn't seem in the least bit interested or surprised, almost as if she knew exactly what was going on. She shot Ron a few edgy glances and Harry saw that her eyes had a haunted look about them, and it didn't suit her in the least. Harry still got the feeling that Hermione was hiding something from them, and he didn't like it, it was dreadfully uncharacteristic of Hermione to be so evasive, keeping secrets from them. He frowned at her slightly before he let Ron continue.

"Exactly what I said," Ron continued, "really, _He_ hasn't done a thing, at least he hasn't done anything outright. It's not like him, at least that's what Dad said, he said that usually You-Know-Who was all about trying to show off his power, bringing people to their knees with huge displays of violence and all that… It's not like him to just slip off into the background in silence… It's kind of creepy actually… But I suppose he's biding his time, making plans, recruiting, and making sure that the Ministry doesn't know that he's out there, so that he'll be able to get everyone when they least expect it…" He gulped, giving an involuntary shudder at the thought. "Who knows what's going to happen once he decides it's time to show everyone he's back…" It seemed as though they all shook themselves mentally, "No, the thing we know about is what's going on between Dumbledore and Fudge. Supposedly, Fudge is still obviously denying that he's out there, but you won't believe it!… Fudge tried to fire Dumledore!"

Harry gasped audibly, as did Hermione he noticed, he just couldn't believe it. The closest thing to this that had ever happened was in his second year when the Chamber of Secrets had been re-opened and Lucius Malfoy had bribed the other school governors to kick Dumbledore out… But no one really believed Dumbledore would give up that easily, and he had returned quickly… But now, Harry didn't know… 

" I know!" Ron continued "But Dumbledore refused to leave! He said something about finalizing 'The Parting of Ways,' don't ask me what that is because I don't know, but it's something like now Hogwarts is operating outside Ministry jurisdiction. Now, the school has proclaimed itself independent from the Ministry, sort of like its own separate country or something. Odd isn't it? At any rate, now Fudge has been trying to persuade the Ministry to take direct action against Hogwarts and shut it down, silence Dumbledore once and for all…"

Hermione spoke for the first time in a long time, "I don't believe it! They can't! How could they?! If they shut down the school, if they get rid of Dumbledore, we're all doomed! They might as well just step aside and hand the country over to You-Know-Who!" Hermione looked panicked beyond anything he had ever seen her, and it was unnerving to watch. Something was definitely wrong with that girl.

Harry was about to comment on Ron's news, but he was interrupted as the train screeched to a sudden unexpected halt, thankfully they had changed earlier, and realized that they had reached Hogsmeade station. Harry nervously fumbled for his Prefect badge, and was eternally grateful that Ron hadn't noticed.

They climbed into the carriages as the sky began to let loose and rain began to fall softly over the darkness. All was silent while they pulled up to the castle, which seemed to have an odd glow about it, no one knew what to say; no one really wanted to say anything. They chatted unconcernedly as they made their way into the Great Hall, seating themselves in their usual places at the Gryffindor table. 

Harry's stomach growled, with all the commotion on the train he hadn't noticed how hungry he was. He glanced up at the teacher's table and hoped against hope that the sorting would be brief this year. Unfortunately however, there seemed to be an unprecedented amount of first years this year (Harry wondered vaguely if there had been some sort of baby boom in 1984), and every time he seemed to think it was finally over, there were at least another ten names to go through.

It seemed to take one hundred years, but finally Zyhairstaffel, Ernsted made his way to the Slytherin table, and Harry prepared to be fed at last. However, he was disappointed yet again, as Dumbledore made a special announcement. "Excuse me, yes I know you are all hungry and anticipating the feast but there is one more order of business that must be attended to, so if you could all please give me your undivided attention for a moment." The Hall went deathly silent. "There, that's better. It is my great pleasure to announce the arrival of a new student… Alina if you would come up here please." Harry noticed for the first time a tall girl who had been standing off to the side. "Miss Alina Petranni is transferring from Sydney, Australia, she is a fifth year, and I know that you will all give her a warm welcome no matter to which house she will belong… The Sorting Hat if you please, Minerva." Professor McGonagall handed Professor Dumbledore the Sorting Hat and set down the stool directly in front of him. Harry remembered how nervous he had been when he was sorted in his first year, but at least he got to be sorted with other first years, he couldn't imagine how horrible it must be to be a new student, an incoming fifth year, halfway across the world nonetheless, being sorted all by yourself, in front of the entire school. Alina Petranni however, seemed to be hiding her nervousness very well, and sat on the stool gracefully, placing the hat on her head in one smooth, liquid motion. 

The Sorting Hat was quick with its decision as it shouted "GRYFFINDOR!" Alina was greeted warmly with tumultuous applause and cheers from the Gryffindors, especially from the boys, Harry noticed. And then he saw why. Harry could see her clearly for the first time as she made her way to find an empty seat at the Gryffindor table (which didn't take long since several boys were offering her their chairs), and he realized that she was very beautiful indeed. She had long, smooth, straight dark red hair that fell to her waist, its color glowing russet and smooth, copper-toned tan skin; her eyes were a vivid yellowish-green (which Harry thought looked oddly familiar), somewhat like a cat's eyes, set like very large, sparkling jewels just above and off to the side of her high, swerving Slavic cheekbone. She was very tall, thin, and shapely and anyone who could see properly would have said in an instant that she could have been a model. However, although she was extremely attractive, and she moved flawlessly, she would have been much more beautiful if she hadn't been wearing such a dark, smug, arrogant expression that made her appear icy and aloof. 

Although Harry had to admit that she was extremely pretty, no one, he thought to himself, could compare with Cho Chang. Harry's mind thought of her in an instant, her long black hair, her glittering, warm dark brown oriental eyes, shining with perfection, her café-au-lait skin, and just everything about her from her angelic glow to her radiant smile. With a jolt, however, he was brought quickly back to Earth by the sound of Dumbledore's voice. "Yes, congratulations Alina! But now I would like you to welcome our new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, direct from Salem, Massachussets in America, a very good friend of mine, Professor Sanies!" Harry noticed a lady at the teachers' table that he hadn't before. Harry observed her as she rose to shake Dumbledore's hand, she was a very short and skinny woman, with strawberry-blonde hair and vivid electric-blue eyes. He also noticed, though he couldn't see her too well from this distance, that she was remarkably pale, indeed, she looked a bit frail and tired, and her complexion made it seem as though she hadn't seen the sun in a frightfully long time. Harry soon forgot all this though because the feast had begun and he was determined to stuff himself silly.

~**~_~**~_~**~

When all the food had been eaten, all the pumpkin juice finished, and all the students filled to the bursting point, Dumbledore once more stood to make an announcement. "As you all might have guessed, due to the rebirth of Lord Voldemort, there will be new restrictions imposed to ensure the safety of all students and staff members. First off, after school hours no students are permitted to wander outside the castle unless accompanied by a teacher. Also, all quidditch practices will be supervised by Madam Hooch and the respective head of house, all visits to Hogsmeade will be more carefully supervised by the staff, and limited to a certain hour, and all house dormitories will be guarded in some extra, alternative form or another… Now, some of you may be surprised that such luxuries as quidditch and Hogsmeade visits are still permissible in light of the return of Lord Voldemort, but we feel that one of the most important things we must secure is a high student morale… You must allow yourselves to continue happily with your lives, for if you live all your days in worry and fear, Voldemort has already won. It is for this reason that we are hosting, in light of the success of last year's Yule Ball, a dance just before Easter holidays, which I believe Muggle high schools have dubbed 'the Spring Fling.' The Spring Fling will be open to students of each year, which accounts for the listing of 'dress robes' on your list of required materials, although this year the dance will be solely a Hogwarts endeavor. Well, I believe that's all. However, I would like to warn you all to be extremely careful if you consider breaking any of these new rules, or those, such as the Forbidden Forest restriction, that have been laid down before, because you never know who or what may be watching unseen." Dumbledore's eyes twinkled merrily in the direction of Harry, Ron, and Hermione, and the Weasley twins (who were, of course, sitting near by), before he continued. "Remember that the best thing you can do at the moment, aside from being on your guard for any suspicious goings on, is to learn, and most importantly, to live. That is something we will never allow Voldemort to steal away from us, it is the key to success and happiness: a love of life." Dumbledore smiled as he spoke, "Now, off to bed with you, and enjoy the weekend, classes start in full swing on Monday."

Ron and Harry looked at one another and gave a collective groan, _another_ dance? What were the teachers playing at, pretending that dances were always such great fun? 'Well,' Ron thought, 'at least we have plenty of time to find dates,' although somehow he wasn't so sure, looking at Hermione, that things would be quite so difficult this year. He leaned over to tell Harry this when he saw it: the prefect badge gleaming on his chest. Without really thinking much, he snapped at Harry, "You're a prefect? Why didn't you tell me?" He was perfectly aware that Harry could see right through the 'that's great, I'm so happy for you, it doesn't bother me at all' look that he was putting on, but didn't seem bothered by it. He felt anger sear through him, sweeping across him as his nerves tensed. Harry attempted to stammer out an explanation, Ron could see this just by the way he was giving odd looks and his mouth was moving funny, but he didn't hear a word of it, he was too caught up in his own thoughts… 'Great, just perfect, Harry's a prefect. I should have known this would happen, everything always happens to him anyway.' He sat there and glowered for as long as possible before Harry had to help Hermione lead all the first year Gryffindors to the tower, at which point he followed the two, chatting them up and trying desperately to forget his strong desire to hurt something in some way, to lash out, to storm off and once and for all reveal how angry and hurt he really was.

~**~_~**~_~**~

Harry sensed Ron's uneasiness as they entered the common room, he knew very well how upset and angry Ron must be, and after last year's fiasco, Harry would do anything to keep this from coming between them. With a stroke of brilliance even he didn't know he was capable of, Harry conceived of a brilliant plan to cheer up his friend… "Hey Fred, George, c'mere for a second, we've got something to show you!" he called, urging Ron to pull out Hermione's gift, hoping that this would give him a reason to feel privileged and important, and forget this whole 'Harry's a Prefect and I'm not' business. 'Really, Ron has no idea how lucky he is,' Harry thought as he watched the brothers, deep in awe and discussion, wrestled each other for the Paw. His thoughts drifted to the sinking feeling in his stomach, trhe emptiness in his heart that was slowly eating him up from the inside. Noticing that he was missing out on all the fun, he shook himself mentally, angry with himself for being so stupid and whiny. Dumbledore was right, he was alive, he might as well behave as such. He decided to join the conversation and he, Hermione, Ron, Ginny, Fred, and George spent hours on end in the common room, just messing around and discussing and dreaming up the many wonderful uses for a Gerviddean Iarotvotch's Triple Snap Exploding Paw.

By the time they reached their dormitories, Harry, Ron, and Hermione were in such good moods that Ron really didn't seem to be bothered about Harry's being a prefect, although this could also be because they were all thoroughly exhausted, and, in any case, Harry was pretty sure that that feeling would change within the next few days… But nothing, not even Lord Voldemort, could spoil the warmth Harry now felt spreading throughout his body as he collapsed into his four-poster. At last he felt, just before he slipped off into slumber, 'I'm finally [home.'][1]

~**~

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A/N: 

Alright, phew, that was a longie! Again I apologize for the lack of quality, but I got really tired and well, I can't think of anything else to do with it. I'm going to ask you all a favor, what do you think I should do with Ron's present, what wishes should I make come true (and backfire ::evil cackle::)? I have no idea whatsoever and thought I'd let this be an experiment J Also, yes, I do realize that Alina seems to resemble Lily, but I assure you, at this point at least, that it was purely coincidential, that just happened to be the way I pictured her in my mind, although I may do something with this later. Okay, I'd like to thank all my reviewers personally, as I promised, so here goes:

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Princess: well as you can see, these scars (at least the physical ones) aren't _exactly_ permanent. Stress the word "exactly" ::evil mysterious grin::

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Rose Weasly: g, thanx! One question: does H/H mean Harry-Hermione? Well, if it does, then no, that's not happening. I'm an avid believer in the (as, if I did my job u might b able to c) Ron-Hermione connection

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Katrina Skyfrost: wow, thanx, but good, ::evil cackle:: I like the idea of giving people nightmares J 

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Rachy: yay, another riddle has read me! ::grins happily::. But seriously, u think that was descriptive? Deff not, that's one of the reasons I didn't like it that much, b/c I could have put sooooooooo much mopre into it. U havent cn me write descriptive ::sly grin:: tho u may not 4 a while – sry. ::g::

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~*Dumebledore's True Love*~: wow, thanx. Weird, yes, I kno, but it sort of had 2 b. hmmmm…. Will Harry tell, and if so what will he say? And to whom? Hmmm hmmmm hmmm…… good question, even im not sure. Ill figure it out tho. J 

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Jona: o, u should talk bout waiting! Lol, sry, totally understandable. Thanx, but if u think its that scary, well, r u sure there isnt something wrong w/u? lol, but really, yay, I like scaring people.

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Pylite: yes, I do have terribly high standards that I set 4 myself, im a perfectionist, ::sighs:: what can I say. But I don't like it b/c I kno im capable of sooooooo much more, and I kno iv failed in transmitting the vivid image I had in my mind of chapter 2: intermundia and all. ::groans:: eventually ill work up to a better phase of my potential, but this can b frustrating, no matter how much fun it is. 

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Ady: what wonderful things?! I would luv to kno precisely what u think! Just post me a message or email me or something. I could really use a confidence booster right bout now. ::sighs longingly::. Shaking? Really? Wow, thanx… but yes it was severely lacking in quality, and the next few chapters r no guarantee to blow u away, theyr more dull, inbetweenish necessities, but this needed to happen first, it's a vital part to the story and it seemed a nice way to start it off with a bang, and possibly get the reader thinking, I hope

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SEEKER_2000: woah…… thanx?!

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Abbey: wow, I really don't deserve all of this praise, I really don't, don't stop tho, j/k lol. Yes being a riddle has its definite benefits

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Daydreamer: wow, thanx franny, sry I got all jumpy on u in my review but, im suspicious, and now uv made me even more so! Grrr…. Lol. Yes ROSWELL RULES! ::grins::

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Oonagh: thanx a lot! Wow, all this praise is starting to seriously affect my mood, I luv reviews ::grins dreamily::

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Dumbledore's Apprentice: g, thanx. But um I don't think these ch's r good at all, I hope all the others will b better! I hope ::smiles weakly and hopefully::

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Rachel: yes, I think that last line was one of the few things abt the chapter I liked. Glad u liuked it, thanx!

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Person: thanx

Vmr g, thanx a lot. Interesting works for me. J 

   [1]: http://home.'/



	4. Alina

Disclaimer: Okay, you already know that I'm not JK Rowling, that all of this (except for Alina, etc) belongs to her not me, that disclaimer in the beginning was for the entire story ****

Disclaimer: Okay, you already know that I'm not JK Rowling, that all of this (except for Alina, etc) belongs to her not me, that disclaimer in the beginning was for the entire story. However, I do use a few lines in this chapter that belong not to me but to certain movies, lines which I felt were not only the best for the characterization of Alina Petranni, but it was really the only way to say what I wanted her to say. Okay "… are the legs you stand on, and that position demands respect…" and "You were born to privilege and with that comes specific obligations" belongs to the people who own the movie _Ever After: A Cindarella Story_, I'm just pretending Alina came up with those statements originally, and no I'm not pairing her up with Malfoy, those just happen to be the best lines to get her point across. Moreover, the line, "Toto, we're not in…. anymore" belongs to the people who own the movie, and the the author of the book _The Wizard of Oz_. I know you all know I didn't make those up, I just didn't want anyone to think I was plagurizing.

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Author's Note: This chapter is rated PG-13 for profanity towards the end, sorry, but it's a necessary evil so I can more accurately portray the torrent of emotions Alina is feeling at that point. You have been forewarned. Okay, most of this chapter is devoted to the new girl in Hogwarts, Alina Petranni. Let's clear this up first however, Alina is NOT a Mary-Sue character, and she is NOT Harry's new love interest. I give her much more credit than that. I'm sorry if I misled anyone to think that in my description of her last chapter, but that was what she really looked like, and don't you think it's a little early to be jumping to those sort of conclusions? ::grumbles:: Can't I introduce a character without people assuming she's a Mary-Sue? As you all know, good looks say nothing about personality. The expression she was wearing in the last chapter says a lot more about her than her physical appearance, and ironically, I discovered the beginning of the name "Petranni" which came completely off the top of my head because I wanted a Mediterranean sounding name, is the girl's name Petra, which apparently means "like a rock," which says a lot about her personality. Anyway, I think it would be interesting to see your opinions about her, some of you will hate her, some of you may not, and some of you will have reactions that are totally unpredictable in my mind, I'm just anxious to see how you feel about her by the end of the chapter. Another chapter eating the dust ::groans:: big surprise. I'd better let you get reading….

This chapter is dedicated to amadeus and Jedi Cosmos because it was they who expressed concern about Alina becoming a Mary-Sue character, and I hope that this chapter will help them on the way to seeing that that notion is completely and utterly incorrect, naw, wrong, wrong is a more powerful word than the more gramatically friendly "incorrect." Thank you.

Chapter Four

Alina

By the next morning, all sorts of rumors were flying about the school, and none of them made any sense… "Hey, did you hear about that new girl?… Twenty-Five galleons ('cause that's all I've got) says she's a Death Eater!"

"No, no, you've got it all wrong, she's an Auror under cover!"

"You're both morons! – Everyone knows she's from another galaxy!"

And they got even more ridiculous than this, if that was possible…. Curious, Harry had suggested that they introduce themsleves, find out what was really going on… So, just after breakfast, the three of them approached Alina Petranni, the Australian transfer, looking for some answers, completely unaware that they were going to get a lot more than they bargained for…

They decided to ambush her in the hallway, which wasn't at all difficult since quite a few people seemed to be skirting their way out of her path. Harry noticed that she carried herself very well, walking with perfect posture: her back was straight, her head held high, and she walked smoothly and proudly. The three also realized something slightly odd in her presence… As they approached her, they saw that there was something about her that seemed regal; she seemed to radiate the aura of beauty and power, of _royalty_: indeed, as they looked into the proud, passionate, regal fire burning behind those bright yellow-green eyes (_where_ had he seen those eyes before?), they felt as though they were in the presence of a Queen.

She seemed kind enough as they chatted her up and made acquaintance… She seemed to like Ron from the moment she heard his name, and, much to Harry's relief, in her friendliness she mentioned nothing of his scar nor of his fame. When she heard Hermione's name however, after doing the smallest of double-takes, acquired an odd look of softened-confusion and disappointment, before her slighlty-strong Australian accent slipped into a slightly condescending tone, "You've forgotten your manners."

Only Ron, who was growing more and more red by the moment, seemed to have even a clue as to what was going on. Harry and Hermione on the other hand, just stood there shooting each other sidelong glances and looking equally confused, before Hermione plucked up her courage and asked "What exactly are you talking about?" in a naïve, uneasy tone.

Not bothering to even attempt to mask her shock, the Australian spoke gently, in a nonetheless firm voice, her eyes hinting a bit at the fire and ice they were capable of displaying, as though she wanted to set Hermione to rights with as little friction and hurt feelings as possible. "You are muggle-born," she said, scanning her quickly and thornily with her eyes, "have you not forgotten your place?"

As if this was not enough, before Hermione could even comment, someone cut in, and it was the last person in the world Harry wanted to see at that moment… Draco Malfoy had been watching smugly, his eyes filled with triumphant glee. "So, Know-It-All-Granger's finally been cut down! Have you finally figured out you're nothing but a worthless Mudblood?"

However, either because he was too stupid, or because he was enjoying himself too much (you decide which), Malfoy didn't seem to notice that his comments, far from pleasing Alina, only seemed to infuriate her, "And you call yourself a pureblood!" she snarled. Her eyes burned with a festering rage and her aura of power seemed dangerously noticeable as she fixed Malfoy with a glare that could've withered the greatest of wizards. "Malfoy, isn't it?" she sneered, her lip curling in imminent dislike. She seemed to take Draco's malicious glare for the affirmative. "How dare you use that sort of language? Muggle-borns like Hermione are the legs you stand on and that position demands respect! Not such callous treatment! What, have you lowered yourself to that of a commoner? Being pure-blooded you should know better! Being pure-blooded you're supposed to set a better example for those in lower positions! You were born to privilege and with that comes specific obligations! But no, you have proven yourself to be no better than a common muggle… In fact, anyone of any proper breeding and respectability would think you to be nothing more than a filthy gutter rat! You have brought _shame_ to your family and your class!" she growled, before turning her back on Malfoy, who looked as though he had just been stabbed in the heart.

Normally the scene of Draco Malfoy being so badly thrashed by one of his own would have been a hilarious sight, but, considering the circumstances… "I'm terribly sorry about him," she rounded on them, "I can't believe anyone with such a … er … _prominent_ background, could be such a cowardly snake!"

Harry, Ron, and Hermione just glared at her, however, shocked and angry, until Hermione, who looked as though she had just been slapped in the face, opened her mouth scathingly as though to say something, thought the better of it, and stomped away steaming, her nose in the air.

Alina seemed mildly confused as she watched Hermione go, and looked at Harry and Ron as though expecting an explanation. "Well, I don't know what she expected… We've all got our place to fill in society, and the sooner everyone learns that, the better off we'll all be."

Harry gave a glance at Ron, who seemed beyond all words, crimson and trembling from head to toe in anger, his right hand dangerously nearing his wand. They stood there for just another moment, Ron just to glare, and Harry, who was equally appalled but shocked that anyone could be so arrogant, stayed only to make sure Ron didn't do anything stupid. Carefully watching Ron's wand hand, he decided it was time to go, grabbed Ron by the arm and pulled him away, but not before bidding Alina good day… He spat at her, his every word reverberating with the utmost loathing and disgust…

"You're in Hogwarts now, and I don't know what you're used to but now you've a place to fill in British society, and things don't work that way here. The sooner _you_ learn _that_, the better off we'll all be."

So, Harry and Ron marched off to find Hermione, leaving a slightly confused looking Australian transfer staring after them… And Harry could've sworn he distinctly heard her say "Toto, we're not in Sydney anymore."

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~**~_~**~_~**~

Lunch had only just begun, and the trio was recovering from a particularly nasty morning spent completely comatose, otherwise known as a triple-period History of Magic lecture. It was Monday, September fourth, the first day of classes (since September first had fallen on a Friday), and the Gryffindors, and Hufflepuffs for that matter, were counting on their food to wake them. Harry, Ron, and Hermione hadn't spoken to that, that, that _girl_ all weekend, but Ron had had quite a time bashing her.

As it happened however, just when they had managed to push her out of their mind, those crazy rumors brought them back to her. Ernie MacMillan, a Hufflepuff fifth year who once thought Harry to be the Heir of Slytherin, was conversing in low yet audible whispers with his friends Justin Finch-Fletchley, Hannah Abbot, and Susan Bones. He was sitting directly behind Ron, and he, Harry, and Hermione heard everything he said. "Looks rather fishy if you ask me… Coming back now… I mean, everyone knows about that family. Just think about it: the Dark Lord falls, they run halfway across the world to Australia; then You-Know-Who comes back, and they suddenly re-appear in England? No one in their right mind goes right into the lion's den… Not unless they're on his side! I'm telling you, she's a Death Eater!"

Ron turned around, his dark blue eyes blazing, and stuck his head through a gap in between the Hufflepuff friends. "She's not," he growled, "she's just a terrific snob!"

The Hufflepuff quartet looked appalled as Ron turned back to face Hermione and Harry, sitting opposite him. "Wait a minute," Hermione said, looking confused, suspicious, and calculating all at once, "left when _He_ fell?… '_Reappear_ in England?' She used to live here?"

"Yeah," Harry continued for her, perplexed "and what's that about, 'everyone knows about that family?' What's going on?" His eyes implored Ron for an explanation.

He shrugged, "Dunno. What'd they say her surname was again? Petranni? That sounds somewhat familiar, it doesn't sound English though… I'll have to ask Dad when I get the chance, he'll probably know. Probably nothing though, you know, some stupid old-wizarding gossip or something, you know how suspicious Ernie can be."

Ron glanced over at Alina, she siting at the other end, by the staff table, and felt a white-hot surge of anger sear through his every nerve, like a rampaging bull. He couldn't believe she'd had the nerve to say that! And to _Hermione_ of all people! He felt his skin getting more and more red by the moment until he was certain he was glowing scarlet. He wished with all his heart that he could just stroll right up to that Alina Petranni and punch her right square on that perfectly stuck-up nose of hers… 'That Alina Petranni,' people like her gave old wizarding families a bad name. Ron forced himself to face his friends once more, "What is _she_ doing in Gryffindor anyway? She looks to me like a Slytherin through-and-through…" He glared past his friends, past the walls, past Hogwarts… "I should've known…" he growled, feeling so stupid, like he'd failed Hermione in some way, by not protecting her from that monster, or something of that nature, he wasn't really sure. He knew Hermione could protect herself well enough, but all the same… He sat staring into oblivion in confusion and anger…

He was brought back to Earth by the sound of her voice, and his stomach twisted into an odd knot as he heard her speak, something that had been happening a lot lately, what was going on with him? He had no clue whatsoever. "What do you mean?" she inquired.

"Should've known she'd be so… so…" He couldn't seem to find the right adjective to describe the criminally offensive, horrible person that was Alina Petranni. "So… the way she is!"

"Ron, don't be stupid," Harry mused, "there's no way anyone could've known she'd be that horrid."

"I should've," he sighed "after all, she _is_ an Australian…" From the odd, pensive looks his friends gave him, the way they glanced at him skeptically, to each other, and back again; he knew he was going to have to explain this… "Listen, I haven't got a clue what muggle Australia is like, but the magical Australian society is _very_ different from our own. I have distant family, cousins or something, who live in Sydney, they've got a manor on Home-Bush Bay, and anyway, the year before we came to Hogwarts, they were hosting a family reunion or something, and we went there… Trust me, Malfoy would be in heaven, it's like a stuck-up pureblood's paradise. Apparently, the Muggle-Born Civil Rights Movement," seeing confused looks once more, he recovered himself, "don't worry, I'm sure Binns'll drone on about it someday. Anyway, it hasn't even happened over there! It's like stepping back a hundred years! Non-purebloods haven't even got the right to vote or run for office! It's all directly under the control of the old-wizarding families. The Muggle-borns pay about three quarters of all the taxes, and they have virtually nothing!… They've got all the down-and-dirty jobs like grave-digger and toilet-cleaner and all that, but those are the lucky ones, who are independent, because most of them do literally have nothing. About ninety-five percent of all Muggle-borns are slaves." 

Hermione gasped, the look of horror more than obvious on her face, and Harry nearly fell off of this chair. "Okay, they're not _really_ slaves, officially, but it's just as bad. They're servants technically, but the only reason they're called servants and not slaves is because they're paid, but they're barely paid anything at all. All the law says is that you have to pay them, even if it's just a knut every month, just as long as its enough for them to pay taxes on each year."

Ron continued, even though the fire burning in Hermione's looked _very_ dangerous, and Harry seemed almost comatose with shock, "It get's worse…" he started, feeling daring enough to tell the whole truth. "Everything is separate too, the schools, though most upper-class purebloods don't' even go to school, they've got private tutors… Anyway, yes everything from the pavement they walk on to the bathrooms they use, markets they can shop in, to the clothes they're allowed to wear, all separate, and there's more, in ways you can't even imagine. They have separate legal codes too, they don't bother to pretend to be unbiased and equal, they've got separate laws for each class: as you can imagine, this isn't in any way favoring the muggle-borns, they can't even read certain books, wear their hair in certain ways, speak certain languages, have a certain amount of money, join certain regiments, all sorts of crazy things… And the punishments for violating the laws are insane! Just for looking a pureblood in the eyes without asking permission, it's a week in wizard prison, and the dementors there are given special allowances for muggle-born prisoners, no not the dementor's kiss, well depending on the crime, but there are other things they can do…" 

Ron shuddered involuntarily, and swallowed hard, preparing to continue, before Harry interrupted him. "What about the half-bloods?" Harry asked, and from the look on his face, it was clear that he wasn't so certain that he wanted to know the answer.

"That's the thing Harry, there aren't any."

"What do you mean 'there aren't any,' you can't tell me there aren't any mixes, that's just ridiculous…" Harry stuttered.

"Nope, there really aren't any. All of these 'traditions' date back to European wizarding custom, the Aboriginal witches and wizards couldn't care less, but when Cook brought the muggles over, the old-wizarding families, the most harsh, stuck-up ones who wanted to go back to the 'old order' of things, went with them. Australian magical society is relatively young in comparison to Europe and other places, and it was so expensive back then, so isolated, that only the most wealthy wizards could afford it, unlike America, which was relatively cheap and filled with renegades, they haven't had much time or opportunity to change. They brought their muggle-born servants over with them, and they flourished," he spat. "But the reason there aren't any half-bloods are because of their marriage and 'breeding' laws, no one is allowed to mix or marry outside of their class, and they've got to take all sorts of percautions to prove that they are who they say they are. They've got all sorts of castes, and if a muggle-born tried to marry a pureblood, or mix with them in any way, the punishment was beyond anything… The pureblood would be banished from Australia forever, and the muggle-born, the muggle-born," Ron closed his eyes, swallowing, shaking slightly, there was no other way to say it… "The muggle-born receives the dementor's kiss, on the spot, trial or no, evidence or no, as soon as they're accused, if no prominent pureblood contests, they're given the dementor's kiss. It doesn't matter whether or not they really did it, just as long as they're accused by a pureblood, they're gone…"

"WHAT?!" Hermione screamed so loudly that even Professor Trelawney up in the North tower probably had heard her. Everyone in the hall turned to look at her, but she didn't seem to care, her eyes glinted murderously and her face had gone shock-white. Harry, after blinking a few times attained a similar look and slammed his fist into the wood so hard the table jumped about a foot in the air before he leaned in, growling, "YOU CAN'T BE SERIOUS!"

Ron pushed away his half-finished plate, he had lost his appetite, and waited for the rest of the students to return to their business, before continuing, still shaking slightly, "I am. I'm serious, that's their law, and it's not even the worst one either…" He shut his eyes and felt slightly sick, he refused to think about it any longer. "No, but the purebloods, they live right in the lap of luxury, barely have to move on their own. They've got everything, and the ones in the highest classes don't even go to school, they have private tutors, and they don't learn just magic either, they learn everything from dancing, to how to behave at parties, to singing, handwriting, all that sort of stuff. Just look at her eat," he gestured towards Alina, who looked more like she was dancing than eating, "you can bet she's had lessons on how to do that too… As far as they're concerned, muggle-borns are like sub-human children who are too stupid, ignorant, and vulgar to know any better, who need purebloods to protect them from themselves… Their only purpose, in their mind, is to make life easier for the purebloods. That's probably what she meant when she told you you'd forgotten your 'manners,'" he addressed Hermione, "she probably expected you to say, 'Mistress Alina, would you be so kind as to allow me to spit-shine your shoes?' That'd be what she's used to," he sneered. "Must be a rather nasty culture shock for her, coming here," he spat, disgustedly smiling in his twisted grin. "Did she say she lived on Home Bush Bay?"

Hermione nodded, still glaring, and it looked like it took a lot of effort to speak, as though it were almost painful. "But that's one thing I don't understand, Home Bush Bay is a muggle settlement, Sydney is a muggle settlement… If she lives in this whole other wizarding world, if she's so pro-pureblood, then how come she lives so close to the muggle establishment?" she puzzled, fixing Ron with a piercing glare, clearly attempting to wash certain thoughts from her over-preoccupied mind.

"C'mon Hermione," Ron mused, wary of egging at her too much, "I thought Miss Genius would have had that figured out already." He allowed himself a small laugh at the look of twisted fury on her face, but stopped himself short when he met with the un-Hermioneish glare in her eye. "It's simple, Home Bush Bay really goes in about four lengths further than the muggles even know about, but they mask it with all sorts of muggle repelling charms and spells to make it unplottable, all that lot, probably a bunch of other stuff too that I don't even know about. That's one way you know she's top dollar, no one but the elite, the cream of the crop, the top of the top, the most wealthy and most powerful have their manors on Home Bush Bay… Trust me, she's probably got a hundred times more money than Malfoy does, and just as much power and influence too… I'm starting to think Ernie may be right, who in their right mind would leave all that, and come here, right into Voldemort's waiting hands…"

"You really think she's that rich?" Harry asked, a little confused, looking to Alina and then back to Ron, "she doesn't look so wealthy, I mean, don't you think if she really had all that money she'd show it off a bit… Like Malfoy… I mean, people that wealthy – 

"He was cut off by Ron, who was shaking his head vigorously, "No, no, no. That's what actually makes her higher up on the social scale than Malfoy. You see, only those in the lower-upper class of old-wizarding families show off their wealth. They want to prove they're of high standing, and make it seem as though they're worth more than they really are. Malfoy- stinking rich, yes; powerful, a bit; but quite as wealthy and powerful as he seems: no; top of the upper class: never." Ron smiled a bit at the knowledge that in reality Malfoy was in a lower-class of purebloods. "Why do you think the old Malfoy family never moved to Australia when they first had the chance?… Because the other purebloods over there would've spat on them or something. They're much more powerful right where they are. No, the people who are _really_ wealthy, _really_ high-class, they don't need to pretend they're so rich, because they're so secure and arrogant either they could care less whether or not anyone of the lower class knows it, or they think its obvious enough already. You can tell she's high-society at its climax because of her 'respect the muggle-borns, purebloods should know better' tangent… They're so arrogant that they think that any vulgarity is a common thing, that they're so much better because of their 'good blood' that they're supposed to set moral examples for the poor, underprivileged, stupid, unclean muggle-borns. That's probably another reason she doesn't like Malfoy, because when he was so vulgar towards you," he addressed Hermione once more, "she could tell he was lower than she was on the social scale, that he wasn't quite as 'good' as she was, because people from her social sphere would never speak or behave in such a manner. That's what makes her even worse than Malfoy. It's disgusting what they do to people over there, if she'd lived here she might have been a rather nice girl," he clicked his tongue in mock-sympathy, "social deviants are very harshly punished if they don't comply to the status quo, anyone's who's different is either weeded out or changed into another mindless zombie of class-conforming gits. What a shame," he mocked. "I'll owl Dad later and ask him what's up with this whole Petranni thing," he scribbled on his hand to remind himself and stood up, "come on, it's 1:55, we've got to get to double Potions in five minutes… I REALLY HATE MONDAYS!… What're they playing at, giving us a triple Binns, and then a double Snape, I suppose they're hoping we puke out our lunch or something… Let's forget about this stupid Australian, just thinking about the whole business makes me sick, anyway, we've got Charms, the only real class today, just before dinner, and you'll wipe the floor with her Hermione. Then she'll really know she's not in Sydney anymore!"

"Too right I will," Hermione smiled, as the three set off for the dungeons, completely unaware of what was about to happen…

****

~**~_~**~_~**~

Alina Petranni stepped carefully and quaintly inside the dungeons, she was one of the first people there, and she was intrigued by the dark, interesting chamber that she had encountered. She had never seen anything quite like this before, Father would never have allowed this sort of thing at home on the manor, he hated dungeons… At least, she was pretty sure, she didn't know much about her Father, and every time she tried to remedy this, he stepped away from her, icy and cold as a stone wall. Most of the time, he was more like the man she lived with than her father. She took a random seat near the front of the room, 'this ought to be interesting,' she thought to herself, after all, it was her first day at a school, and she wanted to learn everything she possibly could.

She waited, idly tapping her fingers on the desk, examining the every detail of the room carefully with her eyes as the other students filtered in. She furrowed her brow confusedly as she watched muggle-borns and purebloods sit together, weren't they going to be separated? Apparently not. She sneered slightly, not quite so sure this Hogwarts was so great as its reputation proclaimed it was. It didn't make sense, pairing up purebloods with muggle-borns, it was like, what was that old muggle adage? Pairing apples with oranges? Something like that. She sighed deeply, sinking into her chair, could she be forgetting her muggle history, her muggle studies, already? 'C'mon Alina,' she told herself, 'pull yourself together, you've got to adjust if you want to fit in here!'… But it didn't seem to make any sense at all, the way these things worked at this Hogwarts, she didn't like the idea of having so many muggle-borns in class… It wasn't that she had any particular problem with muggle-borns, it was just that she was positive that they would be slowing the class down, and she was not a very patient person when it came to that lot. After all, muggle-borns are much less adept at magic than purebloods, right? It was a fact of life, each and every tutor she'd ever had had bestowed this knowledge on her, and she had put infinite faith in her tutors. Her tutors were all she'd had, even if they were only teaching some tiresome, tedious subject like the way to serve tea or something of that nature. The social graces were always a boring study. Whatever subject they may have taught, however, her tutors were the only people who ever offered her an escape from that world that she was suffocating in, the only people who offered her a light at the end of the tunnel. When she was studying or reading she didn't have to think about where she was, how lonely she'd been, or how hurt she really felt; she'd be lost in another world entirely, and it was for this reason that she was addicted to books, to study, to quidditch and other physical pursuits even, to anything that offered her a way out of her life at the manor.

She was jerked from her thoughts by the entrance of a man with greasy black hair, a hooked nose, and sallow skin, wearing a rather mean expression, presumably the teacher. She recognized him instantly, Severus Snape, she had had lessons on this as well, on the pureblood families, who they were, how to recognize them, and the history behind them. 'Oh, perfect,' she said sarcastically to herself, 'Father's _favorite_. This is going to be a happy lesson, so glad I sat in the front.' Her father had lectured her at length on why Severus Snape was such a horrid person: nasty, bitter, back-stabbing, vengeful git, he had made him out to be. Father had come to Hogwarts in his fifth year too, his parents had sent him out of their manor in Greece to live with his cousins in England because of the nasty violence that was happening because of the Muggle-Born Civil Rights Movement at home… She shuddered as she recalled the horrors her father had once told her, the horrors she had studied about, thinking 'all the more reason to agree with that muggle Confucious in his stressing the need to _keep the order_…"

She pulled herself back to Earth as she realized that Snape was calling role, "Miss Patil… ahhh…" He smiled in a very disturbing manner as he met eyes with Alina "Miss Petranni," it seemed to be paining him to pronounce her name, "our _new_ celebrity," what was he talking about? "Potter, you've got competition." Was this some sort of insult, trying to remind her of the fact that everyone was already talking behind her back, already hating her, on her first day? She glared at him as he continued to take the role, already beginning to detest him, but stopping abruptly, forcing herself to think straight. She wasn't going to hate him, she wasn't going to allow herself any feelings toward the man, she refused to give him that much power over her, to give him that sort of satisfaction. She would show him…

Half-way into the lesson, as she was brewing her potion, that, that _man_ approached her. She wasn't worried, she knew her potion was just fine. "You must tell your father I said hello," he smiled twistedly. She concentrated with all her might on hiding just how nervous he made her, and she was an expert at emotionless behavior, after all, hadn't she had her whole life to learn from her father? It was what she did in her free time, when she was bored, she studied people, their movements, their expressions, their insides, just what made them tick, and how they did it. She had inherited her brilliant psychological skills, along with her brilliant acting skills from her mother, this and not much more she had managed to gather, since Father so rarely spoke of her. Snape must have been put off by her emotionless behavior, so he pursued the subject further, "My, my, my, won't old Demetrius be _so_ disappointed when he discovers just how poorly his daughter is doing here…" 

This was getting difficult, she was most certainly _not_ a patient person, and Snape's presence seemed to shorten her already abysmally quick-tempered fuse considerably. She considered killing him, just to get him out of the way… Wait a minute… Had she just considered _murder_? What was going on? 'Oh please,' she pleaded with herself, 'not another attack, not another fit, not here, not now! This can't be happening, it just can't!' It wasn't the first time these dark thoughts had invaded her psyche, in fact, considering just how long they had been frequenting her, one would've thought she'd of gotten used to them by now.

Severus Snape forged ahead, completely unaware that the fifteen year old girl sitting just underneath his glare had seriously contemplated his murder just a moment before, nor that she had the power to do so, if she so chose. "In all my years of study, Miss Petranni, I have found all Australians to be very stupid, dear, dear, I had hoped you'd prove me wrong, I guess not… You've disappointed me _Alina_."

She shivered as he pronounced her first name, she didn't like the thought of someone so low addressing her in such a manner. Doubtless he knew the damage he was doing, 'and here I am losing control,' she screamed angrily at herself, 'come on, you're letting him win! Just stop thinking, that's the ticket… but no, you're STILL THINKING! SHUT UP!… This is useless… _Come on Alina_, he's not worth you, he's not worth you working yourself up. Don't lose control, don't lose control! You'll be playing right into his hands! Can't let him win, he just wants to see you lower yourself to the level of a commoner!… Sometimes I wish I was a muggle-born, I'd be able to say and do whatever I please, and no one would think any the worse of me… LOOK AT YOURSELF! What are you thinking? You _want _to be a muggle-born? Ugh,' she sneered at herself, disgusted, 'you disgrace the name of a pureblood. What would they say? You've brought _shame_ to your family and your class… the same thing I told that Malfoy git, but I deserve it… I've contemplated murder, I've allowed myself angry thoughts, and wished myself a muggle-born all in about two seconds: I've shirked off my responsibilities in search of some lower, crude sort of freedom, I _should_ be ashamed of myself!'

She hung her head in shame, her first day and already she'd managed to bung it up royally… But it wasn't long before anger began to overpower her once more, after all, if only that Snape, snake of a man, hadn't provoked her… She knew that being a pureblood she wasn't supposed to be susceptible to such provocation, after all, she was above that, wasn't she?… At the moment she didn't really care. As though she was physically paralyzed from the shoulders down, she let her eyes do what the rest of her could not. She swung her head up at Snape, so angry that her aura of ultimate power seemed more dangerous than ever. She watched with a dark, angry sort of euphoria as the teacher stumbled backwards in fear as she glared at him. Her stare was so powerful that anyone who looked directly into her yellow-green irises would've sworn that she was murdering him with her eyes. She smiled a twisted sort of smile and hissed at him in Parseltongue as she watched him fall over the desk behind, potion spilling all over his face, appalled and frightened. Who could blame him though? She knew just how much fear she could inspire with just one glance. She knew how powerful her eyes were… After all, it wasn't the first time she had brought fully-grown wizards to her feet just by looking at them. Everyone was watching her now, and she reveled in the fear that was engulfing the room, stagnating the air. She was in control, she felt the ultimate power she had rush over her like darkness, filling her every nerve with a flighty sort ecstasy. 

The feeling of darkness and euphoria left however, just as quickly and easily as it had come, leaving her feeling a bit dumbfounded and dazed, not quite sure what had happened. Snape, who had stood up and fixed himself by this point, noticed that she had softened, and took advantage of this. He had never been so humiliated in his life, it was apparent. Alina wondered vaguely just what had happened to embarrass him so much. He was looking at her, uh oh. "Fifty points from Gryffindor for that insubordinate glare of yours!" he shouted at her. "I shall notify the headmaster of this."

"No problem," she heard herself say, everyone was staring at her, but something in her was happy with this, she'd show them all what it meant to make an enemy of her, "I could take on Dumbledore anytime." She gasped, slapping her hand over mouth, had she just said what she thought she had? Oh God, it was happening again wasn't it? It was as though someone had slapped her in the face, and she remembered everything… "I… I… I'm sorry Professor, I… I…" this was going to sound so stupid, "I didn't know what I was saying…" she stumbled, panicking, her voice slipped into a tone about five octaves higher than usual, and, and, were those tears she was holding back? Were those tears choking up her throat? No… No way, she hadn't cried in nearly six years, and she refused to allow herself to demonstrate any such weakness, any such vulnerability, especially not here, especially not now. She regained control of herself, and although her voice was shaky, it had once again attained relative normalcy, "I don't know what came over me Professor." 

The Potions Master looked pensive, he was staring at her with the utmost loathing, and, something else, could it be… sympathy? Perhaps the Professor actually recognized some of his own feelings inside of this girl, this stupid girl, perhaps it was something else. Perhaps we'll never know. All that really matters is that he let her off the hook that day. "Seeing as it's your first day, Miss Petranni, I will not punish you further," the other students gasped, half shocked, half outraged, "however… However," he said, regaining his resolve, as though he didn't want anyone to think he had gone soft on her, "if you so much as hint at such behavior again, I will personally see to it that you are expelled! Do you understand?"

"Yes sir," she said, solemn and stony, although her voice held no trace of shame. Outwardly, she seemed perfectly cool, calm, and collected, confident, blasphemous even, but this was a lie if anything at all. As I have doubtless told you, she was a very good actress… Come to think of it, she indirectly told you this whole section hasn't she? The important question now is, how trustworthy is she as a narrator? How truthful has she been?

****

~**~_~**~_~**~

Harry was sitting with Hermione and Ron, both opposite him, at dinner. They had just gotten out of Charms, the only enjoyable class that day, but his mind was still in Potions…

"I can't believe it!" he almost screamed, outraged, "I can't believe he let her off! You know if that had been me, I would've been executed!" He couldn't help but feel at least a little angry…

"I know," Ron said, eerily, "but did you see her eyes?" Harry and Hermione nodded, "That was downright creepy that was." He shivered.

"It was worse than creepy," Hermione added, she finally seemed to have got her personality back, "she had everyone mortified! She had me scared out of my wits, she had everyone scared out of their wits. I mean, Snape was practically about to wet his pants!"

Harry grinned a bit at the thought of Snape that terrified of a mere _Gryffindor, _'must be tormenting him,' but his smile faded rather quickly, "I don't blame him… That look, it was like… Well, I don't think there's any words to describe it… Almost like she was to killing him with her eyes… I don't think anyone wants to get on the wrong side of that glare." His friends nodded, their eyes showing just how enthusiastic their agreement was…

By now the story had spread like wildfire to the entire school, of course, who could expect anything else? The details of the tale however, were completely different by the time they found their way back to Harry's ears. Without realizing that Harry had been present during the class he was speaking of, Ernie MacMillan came up to Harry and addressed him directly, "Did you hear? That new girl, Alina Petranni? Apparently, in Potions today, she tried to telepathically kill Professor Snape, and she challenged Dumbledore to a wizard's duel, and then changed a bit, and tried to summon Voldemort into the room! Some Death Eater came in and knocked Snape out, and she ran out of the classroom shouting 'DEATH TO ALL MUDBLOODS! THE DARK LORD IS COMING!' Sorry about my language Hermione," he addressed her, "but I thought you ought to know, she's sleeping in your dormitory isn't she? I would do anything I could if I were you, she'd probably kill you in your sleep. And you," he addressed Harry once more, "I would watch out especially if I were you, I told you she was a Death Eater…"

Harry was fighting down fits of hysterical laughter at the ridiculousness of this when he saw Ernie's face go shock white. He followed the Hufflepuff's gaze above their heads, and found the answer to his fright… Standing right behind Hermione was the very last person anyone, least of all Ernie, apparently, wanted to see at the moment… Yup, you guessed it… Glowing with a fury unknown to mankind, her every feature lit with rage, her dark, russet-glow-red hair like hell fire, stood Alina Petranni, and Harry could tell from the expression on her face that she had heard every word he had said. From the look on Ernie's face, he saw, as he swallowed hard, that it must have been costing him all he had not to run away and never return, and Harry couldn't blame him in the least. Her eyes were blazing with icy-cold fire, and it didn't help that at that very moment lightning flashed across the magically enchanted ceiling. The aura of power was hellishly apparent, and her glare was, while not nearly as murderous as the one that she had fixed Snape with, venemous as though she was using those eyes to stab Ernie with one of those poisoned blades… Harry swallowed, forcing Intermundia from his mind before he could contemplate it any further. 

The forced calm in her voice was horribly unnerving "I would suggest, MacMillan," she hissed, "that if you were going to warn anyone with such stories, that you get your facts straight. Rather presumptuous of you to so readily accept such tales, isn't it? I wonder MacMillan, how you dare think me a Death Eater, how you dare think me a murderer?"

Ernie's voice was trembling worse than anything, but no one could blame him, after all, Alina was sounding horribly like a more human Lord Voldemort. Something in Harry's memory demanded to be noticed… She sounded like Tom Riddle, she sounded like a feminine _Tom Riddle_, the memory Harry had met in the Chamber of Secrets in his second year. The little hairs on the back of his neck stood on end. Ernie spoke in that trembling voice, "You can't frighten me into silence Petranni," Harry wasn't sure how true that statement was, "I know all about you and that family of yours. You may think you have the run of the school, you and your friends, but everyone knows you're a Death Eater, and you will not silence us! You'll get yours!"

Alina looked on the verge of explosion, but she was keeping a good portion of her anger in check, it seemed, "MacMillan, you're more stupid than I thought. How you could be so gullible, it surprises even me. Do you really believe that if I had pulled a stunt like that I would still be here? And you of all people should know that one of my background would never use such language; and me, a Death Eater? I have more respect for myself and for my class than to sink so low as to follow a murderer, more respect for myself and my class than to sink so low as to use such language… I have standards for myself, being pureblooded I know what's expected of me, and I uphold the honor of my family as such, I refuse to sink to the level of a commoner… I'm sorry to say that you, obviously, have no such standards, no such respect for yourself, no such respect for your class… Have you no shame?… You are a DISGRACE!" And with that, she stomped away, fuming. She left the Great Hall. Harry supposed she had lost her appetite, but felt only minimal sympathy, he was still angry with her for the things she kept saying about muggle-borns, purebloods, and classes. 'And besides,' he reminded himself uneasily, only half-believing what he was telling himself, 'she shouldn't have done such a good impression of a Dark witch and scared everyone silly in Potions if she wanted everyone to think so highly of her.'

Ernie ambled off to sit with his friends, who were all looking at him as though he had stood up to Voldemort himself, and the trio glanced edgily at each other. Hermione stuffed a forkful of dinner in her mouth and ran up to the library to look up that powerful glare Alina had about her (Surprise, surprise). Harry and Ron finished their supper, chatting evasively about anything but the events that just transpired, and then went up to the owlery to ask Mr. Weasley about the Petranni family, before, (how exciting!) forcing themselves to do their Charms and History of Magic homework (they didn't have Potions again until Friday), although their minds were clearly elsewhere.

****

~**~_~**~_~**~

Alina Petranni slammed the Portrait behind her, too angry and upset to be glad to finally be alone, as _everyone else_ was enjoying their dinner, she reminded herself. "I hope they all choke on it and die!" she proclaimed aloud to no one at all, though even she seriously doubted that she really meant it. She was filled with so much emotion, so many emotions, all so intense that she felt overpowered completely, like she was either about to burst into tears or hex the first person she saw, she couldn't decide which. She screamed as loud as she possibly could, kicking the nearest armchair, hoping to unleash some of the anguish she felt in her soul. All in vain, if anything, she felt even worse. Desperate, shaking, afraid, unbelievably vulnerable, she ran up to her dormitory; she didn't trust herself not to cry if she didn't at least move some.

She slammed the fifth-year girls dormitory in same fashion she had the Portrait, still feeling unsatisfied, unfulfilled. She looked at her reflection in her mirror above her bedside table and was filled with an indescribable hatred. She hated Severus Snape, she hated that stupid Hufflepuff Ernie MacMillan, but most of all, she hated herself. It took all the strength she had in her not cry, and even then she only just blinked the tears from streaming from her eyes. "Look at yourself" she said aloud, acidly, "just look at what you've become! You're as good as crying! CRYING DO YOU HEAR ME!" she screamed at her reflection. "YOU'VE BECOME A WEAK, SNIVELING LITTLE BABY! FIRST YOU COMPLETELY LOSE CONTROL IN POTIONS! THEN YOU LOSE YOU'RE TEMPER OVER THAT STUPID HUFFLEPUFF MACMILAN…" 'He deserved it,' she thought to herself.

Growling with anger and self-loathing she screamed back at herself in the mirror, "THAT'S NO EXCUSE! AND NOW LOOK, YOU'RE SCREAMING AT YOURSELF IN A MIRROR… WHAT'S HAPPENED TO YOU? WHAT WERE YOU EXPECTING, FRIENDSHIP?" She flinched, apparently she had hit a nerve somewhere inside of herself, she had never had any real friends, not now, not in Australia, not ever. She wasn't charismatic in the least. She was a misfit. She never belonged, no matter where she went, she had never belonged anywhere. No matter where she went, it was always the same, she was always alone. She didn't even have her father for comfort, even he didn't seem to want to love her either. She whimpered slightly, once more fighting back tears… "GET A HOLD OF YOURSELF!" she yelled, "BE STRONG FOR GOD'S SAKE!" she shook the mirror, trying to wash it all from her memory, but to no avail. Back in Australia she had been so unhappy, but had always managed to lose herself in her studies, always managed to hide away from what she was sure internally was a coroded, horrible person. She had been the social deviant if anyone had, and oh how they had punished her for it. She had been so incredibly happy just to escape to all that, to have a chance to start somewhere new, somewhere else… And here she was, with everyone hating her all over again… Some things never change… She screamed again, and once more, it healed nothing… "AND NOW EVERYONE SUSPECTS THAT YOU'RE A DEATH EATER!" 'Well of course,' she reminded herself mentally, 'not doing a very good job of being inconspicuous are you?' Under better circumstances she might have laughed off that last statement, but here she was, staring at the mirror, hating herself and her reflection, a veritable emotional wreck, swept off her feet (and not in a good way either) by a tidal wave of a torrent of emotions. Still not crying, something she had taught herself to do a very long time ago, she thought of herself in Australia. "You never belonged there and you knew it, YOU KNEW IT! But you put on that mask anyway, you played false so much that you became false! YOU WEAK MONSTER! YOU PATHETIC WEAK MONSTER! How often did you cry out against the corrupt, unjust laws, and here you are, spouting their ideals. You make me sick. Do you hear me? I SAID, YOU MAKE ME SICK! YOU SHALLOW, EMPTY, HEARTLESS MACHINE! You-put-on-that-mask-because-you-were-too-weak-to-deal-with-the-pain, YOU PUT ON THE MASK! AND YOU KNEW IT! AND LOOK AT WHAT IT'S DONE TO YOU!… WHAT WERE YOU EXPECTING, THAT THE MASK WOULD FALL TO THE FLOOR AS SOON AS YOU LEFT? ARE YOU REALLY THAT STUPID?! HOW CAN YOU BE SUCH A MORON? You stupid, silly BITCH!" Now she was acting less like the perfect little pureblood than she ever had in her entire life, being more vulgar and unpleasant than she ever had in her entire life, and she didn't care at all and felt horribly guilty all at once. She wasn't the perfect little pureblood everyone expected her to be, that everyone wanted her to be, that everyone needed her to be, that _she_ needed herself to be. She would never be good enough for anyone, for herself, and it was eating away at her insides. Feeling a million times more dirty when she half-realized this, she punched her reflection right square on its perfectly stuck-up nose. Her left fist was bleeding. She discovered that she didn't care. She ripped a weak leg off of a table and used it to bash her mirror, to shatter it, to shatter her reflection, which had taunted her so horribly, into tiny slithers of glass… Because maybe then it couldn't hurt her anymore? That was a chance she had to take, something in her demanded of it. Now that the mask had begun to fall, _this_ was what she had become? This was who she really was inside? Oh God, oh please, this couldn't be her… "THIS CAN'T BE ME!" she screamed, "THIS IS NOT ME! I WON'T LET IT BE! IT CAN'T BE! IT JUST CAN NOT BE!"… And then, suddenly quiet, in a weak voice she stared at her own hands, "This can not be me. Please don't let this be the real me. This can not be me, can it?" Her anger returned, and along with it, her menacing, self-hating yell, "YOU BITCH! CAN'T YOU SEE, YOU'RE AN EMPTY, WEAK, HEARTLESS, SOULESS, SHALLOW _MONSTER_! CAN'T YOU SEE? YOU STUPID, STUPID BITCH!"…

And then she was done, it was over. She collapsed onto the floor and curled up like a small child, still fighting tooth and nail against the tears that so longed to escape her. She was shaking like she never had before, and she whispered to herself, in a voice so hoarse, so horribly barely audible that it was quaking with emotion, "What's happened to me?… I'm a monster, I'm a monster…" She lay there for a long time, plagued with sadness and melancholy, plagued with hurt beyond all things… It was as though in shattering the mirror she had shattered herself, and sure enough, here she was, almost crying, reduced to that of a small child, shaking, whispering, curled up on the floor, the hurt so heavy that she could barely breathe, the hurt so much she was so dazed out she couldn't even think… Until at last, she fell into the first peaceful, easy slumber she had had in a long time, and for the first time in a long time, she deserved it.

****

~**~_~**~_~**~

"Ah, poor little Alina," the Dark Lord smiled twistedly to himself as he watched the broken girl on the floor from the window in his mind. "Not much longer my pet," he grinned evilly at Nagini, curled up on his lap, "not much longer until we can strike at her… She is broken… She is weak… I'll bet her 'poor, little soul' is shattered." He smiled manically as he mocked her, his scarlet eyes gleaming dangerously in the moonlight. He sighed, rising and walking to the prison-like window of his throne room, letting Nagini fall to the ground with absolutely no remorse, "But it is too soon. It is disappointing I know, but it is too soon… We must be patient, wait until the perfect moment to strike, when she is most vulnerable, most likely to agree… And beware little Alina Petranni, for that time is coming sooner than you may think…" He smiled to himself as he imagined the pain she must be feeling, and the unspeakable pain she would feel when he finally had her… This was going to be most amusing…

****

~**~_~**~_~**~

Surprisingly enough, Ron's father had responded extremely quickly. Indeed, it was unusual for a student to send out an owl after dinner and receive a response at lunch the next day. It must have been terribly important… Slightly apprehensive, they opened it up and unfolded the letter, expecting many things, only to find the following:

Dear Ron,

Listen, I can't really tell you anything in a letter, it's too dangerous… We'll just have to wait until we see each other again face to face. Are you sure her name is Alina Petranni? If you're absolutely, positively certain, in the mean time, until I can see you again, I have only one thing to tell you, and it's of a life-or-death importance, so HEED MY WORD:

STEER CLEAR OF THAT GIRL AND ANYONE WITH WHOM SHE MAY BE ASSOCIATED. THAT FAMILY IS TROUBLE. DO NOT TRUST ONE WORD SHE SAYS, SHE EXTREMELY DANGEROUS!

Love,Dad

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~**~_~**~_~**~

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Author's Note:

Wow, that was another long one, huh? I didn't think it would end up being that lengthy, o well, hope you enjoyed it. That chapter went in a completely diff direction than what I had planned. Again, im not quite satisfied, but im more satisfied than I usually m, for some reason, so I suppose that's an improvement. So, what do u think of Alina? This ought to b interesting. I hope iv left u with a bit of questions in ur mind… neways I think ill thank my reviewers…

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Abbey: wow, jeez grl u give me _way_ too much credit, but thanx neway! J 

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Princess: thanx, yes and get on ch 18 already will u?! sheesh.

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Jedi Cosmos: thanx, I hope I cleared that up J Alina is anything but normal and perfect

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Amadeus: ::grumbles again:: thank u neway, but I basically wrote all I have to say about that in my e-mail

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Jona: really? Wow, thanx Jo! I made u feel bad? Awwww… good, that was the pt… yes I hoped I would b able to capture old Voldies evilness. I made u lose sleep? Cool! Hehe J 

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SEEKER_2000: u have no idea how right u r ::grins deviously:: something freaky IS going on, just what im not quite sure

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Ady: ::ducks out of the way:: jeez, thanx alright! Ur right I m dark, every tiem I try to have a nice, normal, dark-free ch it ends up w/those undertones, I guess I really m evil mwah-ha-ha


	5. The Great Food Feud of '95

Author's Note: In place of an ordinary author's note, which you'll find at the end of the chapter, I've decided to write a response to Darth Yoda's review, although I doubt he or she will read this… However, hopefully he/she will, and on the off-chance  ****

Author's Note: In place of an ordinary author's note, which you'll find at the end of the chapter, I've decided to write a response to **Darth Yoda's** review, although I doubt he or she will read this… However, hopefully he/she will, and on the off-chance that this will occur I've decided to do this immediately…

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Darth Yoda: The first time I read your review, I'll admit to it, I confess, I skimmed it, I was dreadfully tired, so sue me, I'm human. At this point, I only thought it was a review sticking up for your country and your heritage, expressing how you had taken offense. I attempted to contact you and even write you a nice, long apologetic letter, I felt horribly guilty to know that I could have offended someone so horribly, it goes against everything I stand for… This just goes to show, _never, ever_ skim a review, because it seems I was horribly wrong. When, after my trip to Canada, I actually decided to read your review in full, I realized just how far off I had been. I must say, if it was your objective to cause as much pain on this end as you had perceived than you have most certainly succeeded. Congratulations. I was, needless to say, mortally offended, and I confess more than a little angry, indeed, I still am offended, I still am angry. However, I will attempt to hold myself in when I attempt to correct the incorrect conclusions that you, in reading so far between the lines that you read a message that wasn't even there in the first place, have jumped to so drastically. I apologize most sincerely in advance if I seem harsh or anything of the like, because I, like Ron, am very easily offended and angered, and as it happens, when I'm staring into the face of a computer screen, my self-control is down to a minimum. I know there are probably many out there who would think me foolish and cruel for letting you know my anger, disgust, and disappointment, but I'm not writing this for anyone but myself really. Being perfectionistic and overly critical by nature I hate it when people miss the point entirely, and have an internal need to make sure someone knows how I feel when they have offended or angered me. Again, I apologize for my lack of patience in this matter, as well as my abysmally quick temper; it's one of my more horrible flaws. Here goes: 

While I would (as Sea Faerie did – thank you Sea Faerie, you have said everything I wish that I could say, but can't, being the author) like to congratulate you on your pride in your country and your heritage (I myself am a very patriotic American), and your courage in backing them, the content of your review has shown just how blinded you are, and just how little you understand. I apologize if you got the wrong message from me in the chapter, that was my fault, I meant to put in a bit in the author's note that this was in no way reflecting real, muggle Australia, but my father was screaming at me to get off the computer, and under the pressure to finish it slipped my mind. I also realize that Ron's line "after all, she is Australian," could easily have been taken the wrong way, that again, was my fault, I wrote that part late at night and it never even occurred to me just how offensive that statement could be. However, anything else Ron might have said in place of said statement wouldn't have fit quite right, anything else would have been out of character for him, because we all know how easily angered Ron is, and his habit of saying the wrong thing when he's angry (another of my lovely faults). Moreover, never in the story did I in anyway connect the magical Australian society to the real, muggle society; actually, I made a few subtle hints at just the opposite. Alina is a very vital character to this story, whether or not you like it it's true, and as such it is absolutely imperative to her character and her story that she come from that type of society… In the end you have to understand that I had to put said society _somewhere_! I assure you, I have nothing against the real Australia, I visited its eastern coast in July of 2000 as a student ambassador and absolutely loved it. Perhaps if I explained to you my reasons for choosing Australia, it would become a bit clearer: I needed a country whose native language was English (check – yes I know it was lazy of me, I didn't want to have to deal with language barriers), I preferred it to be an area that I had visited, just so I could hold and image of it and a feel for it in my mind (for this, Sydney seemed perfect, check), I needed a place that would be as different (geographically, climatically, etc) from Britain as Alina is from the trio and Hogwarts (check, not only are the seasons opposite each other but the climate is very different, among other physical features), and finally and perhaps most importantly – it had to be as far away from Britain as possible, geographically isolated (check, Australia is probably the most geographically isolated continent/country that's inhabited by man, and recognizable all over the world). With this in mind, perhaps you'll come to see just for what reasons it seemed to me that Australia was the ideal place for this. Since no one else seemed to have concluded that I was making any sort of connection or statement about the real Australia, I think of this as an isolated incident. I'm sorry, in fact, I pity you if you were expecting to find a chipper little story about a perfect, happy little world full of fluffy, pink bunnies and such things… If this is case I wonder what you're doing here in the first place, and just how removed and enshrouded in your bubble you are. Unfortunately, the world is not perfect, these sorts of societies (though very rarely of this intensity, danger, and particular level of inhumanity) have in fact, existed, if you know your history. In fact, my Australian magical society is really a mosaic of apartheid in the United States (I'm patriotic but at least I know that my country is not perfect, whereas you seem to have insinuated the opposite with regards to your own respective nationality), South Africa, British imperialism in India, etc, and there are even bits of Nazi Germany thrown into it, among other things. Furthermore, unless I'm much mistaken, many, many years ago in Australia, the Aborigines weren't always treated with such high respect, or am I wrong on that one? Yes I am well aware of the fact that such is not true anymore – although, like everywhere else in the world, prejudice and injustice still exists.

I do not appreciate the insult to my intelligence, I know quite a bit more about Australia than you give me credit for, I'm not an expert, Australia is almost never covered in the school curriculum, but I do know much more than you give me credit for. I am well aware of the fact that Australia, like the American state of Georgia I believe was once a prison colony, since the British jails were overflowing. However, this had absolutely nothing to do with the wizarding society I have created there, perhaps the fact that the first inhabitants of Australia, muggle versus magical, the conditions under which they came that is, how they are complete opposites of one another, is a reflection of how opposite they live, think, and exist in the modern magical versus muggle world within the story? Have you ever considered this? Apparently not. To say that something of a dreadful sort, even said society, could never in anyway occur in any one place is more than naïve, it is a poor reflection on your knowledge of history. Such things _have_, as I have already mentioned, occurred, and in many cases in areas where such a notion might once have been deemed impossible. Even extremely simple stories like that of the sinking of the "unsinkable" Titanic demonstrate that anything can happen, any student of history worth his or her two cents knows this. Does this mean that I believe this sort of thing is going to, or has a great chance of happening in Australia? Most certainly not, I'd place the probability of this occurrence at about one in a billion, but I do acknowledge that it can happen. This sort of thing could happen anywhere, it's stupid and naïve to believe that it is impossible, no matter how close its chance may seem, there are so many flaws in modern society that could actually contribute to the wrong circumstances of which many terrible things could be conceived, even the most unlikely tragedies. If you cannot see this, then, as I have said before, I pity you, you are blinded by the bubble you live in, and, as I don't know you personally, I can say little else on the subject. I would also like to add that since the muggles don't even know that such a wizarding world even exists, they would be rather hard pressed to prevent such an existence, very simple logic that you have failed to see. Is it just me or does your saying that I've ruined my story by insulting your country sound more than just a bit ego/ethnocentric? I am writing this story for no one but myself really, although I'm more than open to suggestions, etc from my readers, and it is on fanfiction.net because I want to share it with you; I'm telling a story, that is, in all simplicity, what writers do. Unfortunately, I'm afraid I am not writing this story for you, and as much as I hate myself for having been so offensive, the story does not revolve around you. 

That last comment, congratulating anyone who made it through all four current chapters of my fanfiction, was very low, I might add. You don't have to like my story, I'm well aware of that, everyone is entitled to his or her own opinion, there is no law against it. However, there is a big difference between constructive criticism, stating one's honest opinion, and such blatant, nasty insults. It really was way below the belt of you to stoop to such a level of nastiness as to insult someone in that manner, someone who is already so obviously insecure. I think that the irony in this is very interesting, that you have stooped to just as low a level as you were so angry with me for, that to which you perceived I was lowering myself. It's quite amusing actually. Likewise, you're allowed to be nasty if you want to, there's no law against that either, but it doesn't say much for your character. It would do well for you to remember that if you wan to be effective in your criticism it is not a good idea to draw hypocritical, one-sided conclusions that have minimal evidence and much negative feeling behind them, no one appreciates that and it will win you nothing but negative feeling in return.

Now, as I have said before, and could say again infinitely – which is a measure of my sincerity in saying this, I am truly sorry that I have offended you and led you to the wrong conclusions. If, without being overly sensitive, defensive, and touchy, you honestly got this message from the story, than I have not done my job as a writer, that seems clear, and I accept the responsibility and the blame. However, your nasty comments are neither appreciated nor welcome here, if you feel you cannot restrain yourself, than please, do us all a favor and don't even bother coming here to this story. That is all.

Sincerely,

Naralina

Chapter Five

The Great Food Feud of '95

Harry stared at the note, fighting down the urge to laugh. He knew he should be at least slightly unnerved, but at the moment he just couldn't feel afraid. "Oh no," he joked, "Ron, your dad's turned into Sirius!"

"Harry," Ron said edgily, as though through gritted teeth, sounding nervous, "this is _serious_."

"I know," he laughed, "that's just what I said."

"Harry," Ron sounded irritable, not catching on to the bad crack at a joke, "what I _mean_ is, this is no laughing matter!"

"Jeez, lighten up," he mused, not bothering to appeal to Hermione for support, which he knew would be futile, "come on, she's just---…"

"I'm not kidding," Ron continued, as though he hadn't even heard him, "if _Dad_ is this worried over something like that, it's got to be really bad… He never gets like this; he's usually so calm and relaxed, he almost never gets worried, and out of all those time I've never seen it this bad…"

Harry looked about him; nervous faces surrounded him. He felt slightly aggravated, this reminded him very strongly of the time in his third year when everyone had thought that Sirius was after him, he couldn't feel very fearful then, and he couldn't now, for whatever reason… Come on, he had survived four encounters with Voldemort before, did they all think he was really that weak and useless? Harry knew that they were just concerned for him, and that he was really no match for Voldemort, but he couldn't help feeling frustrated with this, here everyone was again, terrified of some stupid, stuck-up fifteen year old girl as though it were a ten-times-worse (perceived) Sirius Black all over again, as though he couldn't handle Alina Petranni. He groaned slightly to himself and began to pick at his lunch.

Hermione seemed to know precisely what he was thinking, "Oh, Harry, it's not that we---…"

"I know," he interjected, not really wanting to talk about it.

"It's just that we're worried, we don't want to see anymore hurt around here, you saw what she did to Snape… Who knows what she's capable of… I mean, if _Mr. Weasley_ thinks that ---…"

"Mr. Weasley also thought that Sirius was after me in third year, and look how it turned out, what the truth really was… It's probably just what Ron said before, some stupid old wizarding gossip. To me she'll always be nothing but a stuck-up, arrogant snob, nothing more, nothing less."

Ron gulped, looking slightly pale, yet determined, "I mean it Harry, I'm starting to think Ernie may be right…"

He barely had time to snicker mockingly at the thought of this notion when Hermione did the job for him… Rolling her eyes slightly, she leaned in towards Ron from her position opposite the two of them at Gryffindor table, "Oh Ron, you're just as bad as Ernie is. I don't think she's a Death Eater, I mean, unless she's a really good actress or something, I think she'd consider it beneath her." She sneered visibly at the thought of Alina's ideas of classes and standards. "… But I won't deny that she does seem dangerous, something about her doesn't seem right. She is definitely trouble."

Something in Harry's mind suddenly clicked. "Hermione, you never told us, did you find anything on her eyes?" This was something he was very anxious to know, not only because of the power he'd seen behind them the previous day, but because he just _knew_ he had seen those eyes _somewhere_. Quite wisely, he figured that perhaps Hermione could tell him. He leaned in slightly, eager to hear this, for surely, _surely_ Hermione had found something, books had just about never failed her before…

"I didn't find anything," she responded stonily and mechanically, almost quietly, "but I will," she now spoke in a much more determined voice. Harry grinned to himself, he could tell from the expression on her face that she must have searched the library all night, and her lack of success was causing her great pain. Hermione loved books far too much.

They continued to eat lunch, chatting about everything else, until Angelina Johnson, a toweringly tall (about a head and a half higher than even Ron), pretty Black girl who was Gryffindor's best chaser, approached them. She ruffled Harry's hair affectionately as she caught them by surprise. Purely out of startled shock, as she had also dropped an ice cube down the back of his robes, he stood. "Oh wow Harry!" she started, jumping back in a sort of mocking yet all at once real shock, "You finally grew!" Harry wondered vaguely why everyone kept telling him this, he didn't feel any taller. She laughed, "It's about time too, why, you're almost average height by now," she grinned evilly as she watched her words take effect, "you used to about two and a half heads shorter than me, and now you're almost as tall as Ron!" Harry stopped, confused, she was definitely exaggerating, there was no way he'd ever be even remotely close to Ron's towering height, right?… Wrong, as if on cue, Ron stood up beside him and he realized that his eyes were no longer level with Ron's chin, but now with his nose. It was an odd feeling, almost powerful as he finally realized just how much taller he had gotten, smiling inwardly to himself, still a little shocked, he didn't quite know what to make of it. Calculating Harry's thoughts with her eyes, she grinned that devilish grin once more, "Oh, come on Harry don't tell me you _just_ figured that out _now_, you're even slower than I thought!"

Harry imitated her smile, laughing, he chased her around the table as though determined to get her back for that last remark. Waving his wand wildly, eyes ablaze with laughter, he ran after her in a wild goose chase that would not have looked out of place in a Marx Brothers' film. Angelina knocked over plates of food behind her in hopes that he would slip and fall, whilst Harry sent people flying as he attempted to dodge pumpkin juice, smeared peas, jello, and strawberry jam. "Oh, I'll get you for that one Johnson!" he called after her, grinning Fred-and-George-Weasley-esque, and failing to notice the danger lying ahead on the floor…

Tripping on a rather slippery cut of steak, Harry fell face first into a big bowl of chicken-pot-pie. Seeing the expression on his face, Angelina stopped dead, doubling over in fits of hysterical laughter at the mosaic of food that was now Harry. Taking the whole affair to have finished in her favor, she strode over good-naturedly to Harry, who was still on the ground…

But it was not over… He waited for just the perfect moment as Angelina bent down, ruffling his hair affectionately, "You put up quite a fight, ol' Pea-Face… hmmm… Pea-Face Potter… Has a nice ring to it… Anyway, Pea-Face, we're having trials for the new keeper next week. I'm captain this year, and I want everyone to be there. I'll leave you to your food now," she grinned victoriously, turning sharply and strutting away.

Just as she turned, Harry reached up, not even bothering to clean the smeared food off of his glasses, grabbed a plate of now-cold stew, poured it into the chicken-pot-pie so that it was nearly overflowing, snuck up after her, jumped up, and brought the whole bowl streaming over her head. Jumping, she turned, the bowl still over her like a hat, covering her eyes, her face wet and sticky, a gleaming collage of food. She strode over to him, cleverly concealing a ball of whipped cream and cheesecake in her right hand, and removed the bowl with the flourish of one discarding a top hat with her left hand. They were now almost nose to nose. "So," she said, in an oddly triumphant tone, "so, we're not finished then Pea-Face?" Bringing her right hand over him, she smeared his hair and face in a vertical stripe of dessert.

Fred and George Weasley, wearing identical evil grins, saw to it that the opportunity was fully taken advantage of, and, scooping up handfuls of mashed potato and hurling it at the Slytherin table, shouted "FOOD FIGHT!" The Hall rose to the occasion beautifully as the entire student body jumped to their feet, and the sky was filled with flying food. In mock patriotism, George put his hand over his heart and his eyes welled with feigned tears as he sang a tribute to food to the tune of the national anthem. Hermione, grinning to herself, enchanted her food to fly over the Slytherin table and drop, exploding on contact, like a bomb. Ron launched food-rockets directly at Malfoy, who was just as red as the meatballs and tomato sauce that kept mysteriously hitting him. Harry and Angelina were using the bottles of ketchup and mustard like water guns, and Professor Flitwick had charmed the spilt glasses of pumpkin juice to rise in a giant tsunami, crashing over the students like a brilliant, glittering orange sea, but not before enchanting slices of pizza to stand on their points, marching and attacking like little soldiers.

Enthusiasm rent the air everywhere, even at the staff table, as Dumbledore chuckled airily, enchanting loaves of Italian bread to bat tomatoes across the room, smiles abound in each and every face expect for two… McGonagall and Snape stood, wearing stern expressions, trying in vain to put a stop to the commotion. At the moment, Severus was attempting to battle off the pizza soldiers attacking his nose and hanging from his elbow, while trying to convince the headmaster to put a stop to the fiasco. "Headmaster, if any student other than Potter had started this great folly, he would be immediately punished. Potter's head's got big enough already getting away with more than any other student ever could… I only want to…"

It was obvious, as much as she wanted to return the Great Hall to a state of order, her aggravation with Severus Snape's constant insistence on Harry's expulsion must have been greater. Deciding to shut him up at last, she took the opportunity to use the peanut butter and jelly clump before her to glue his lips together. With a quick wave of her wand, Minerva McGonagall created a force-field around the Potions Master so that he was a magnet for guacamole, broccoli, and all forms of rotten vegetables.

Meanwhile, back on the main floor, whilst Colin Creevey and his magical camera were clicking away, recording the event for all time, Ron had run fresh out of meatball missiles. Conjuring fresh ferret food and hurling it into Malfoy's hair, it looked like he had a sudden idea, Harry noticed, before turning to write "GRYFFINDOR RULES" in ketchup on the back of Snape's robes.

Ron seemed to be looking for someone as he tossed a ball of muddy-looking fudge warningly in his hand, before turning to Hermione (who greeted him with an egg to the face) and asking "Where's that stuck up git, Alina? Do you know how much I'd love to get her with this?" 

Hermione shrugged, "She snuck out as soon as the fight started…" As realization suddenly hit her, her eyes bugging out wildly, she grabbed Harry by the elbow, causing ketchup to splatter in a wide circle as she reeled him around dizzily, and looked pointedly at the two boys "Let's go."

Harry didn't want to leave, but something in the expression Hermione was wearing told him that unless he wanted his face broken, he'd better oblige. Ron was looking equally, if not more suspicious, and the two insisted on hunting down the Petranni girl, finding out what Dark activity she might be up to… Inwardly, Harry felt that this would be futile, but he went to appease them, and perhaps to shut them up and prove to them that Alina Petranni was really just a stupid, harmless little girl with an attitude.

****

~**~_~**~_~**~

They had been searched the corridors for what had to be two hours, and seeing as they were the only ones skulking in the hallways, they assumed that the food fight was still in the works. Harry was getting very tired of this, as he was still sure they would find just what they had thus far, absolutely nothing. "I'm telling you," he repeated for the thousandth time, "she's probably hiding out in the Common Room… The only reason she left was probably because she was appalled by the 'lowliness' of food fighting, and didn't want to get her fingernails dirty. Just check the Common Room, and you'll see…"

The Portrait of the Fat Lady was in sight, and Hermione changed direction abruptly, heading toward it, walking stiffly, like a ticking time-bomb waiting to detonate, obviously aggravated with his repetitive comments, "Alright, if you're so smart Harry, we'll go and check out the Common Room, and then you'll see that---…" Her mouth dropped open and her jaw fell to the floor like an anchor as the Portrait Hole swung open, and the sight before her eyes seemed to slap her in the face…

There was their quarry, Alina Petranni, sitting at a table in the front of the room, calmly writing away, staring at her parchment as though it was the only thing in the entire world that so much as existed, as though it alone retained the human qualities of empathy and understanding, as though she were warding off emotion with every particle of her being. Although she had to have noticed their presence, she didn't even look up or bother to acknowledge it in any form whatsoever, but became even more dedicated to whatever it was that she was working on. It was as though the world consisted solely of she and the paper, all alone in the Gryffindor Common Room. 

Hermione was pacing the Common Room angrily, she absolutely abhorred being wrong, it didn't happen often, and, being the smartest girl in the school, no one ever let her live it down when she was. It was almost as if she had been de-throned. Harry and Ron met with her in the far corner as she beckoned them, and discussed a course of action. "I wonder what she's up to," she started, and there was a brief, near silent debate which ended in Hermione bullying the other two in accompanying her to the library.

Just as they reached the Portrait Hole however, Harry passed Alina quite closely, and felt a sick swoop of anger arise in his stomach. He felt his blood boil and his body temperature rise considerably… The knot of rage rising in his throat, he was in complete awe of the nerve of that girl…

After all the things she had said about class and respect, here she was, shamelessly scribbling away at what was unmistakably her History of Magic homework. He couldn't help it, after everything, someone had to say something to her, she deserved it… "What's this?" he mocked, from behind her shoulder, "Miss High and Mighty doing her homework at Lunch? I would've thought you'd find it beneath you! What happened to the respect you had for yourself and your class, oh Great One?"

Harry smiled slightly as he watched Ron stop dead, blanch to a shade of sheet-white, and turn abruptly, until their eyes met… Ron's expression was so clear and evident that it seemed to speak all on its own where his lips had become paralyzed, 'YOU'RE DEAD!' Hermione too had frozen stiff, her face pale and her eyes wide with alarm, like a deer in the middle of a street caught in the headlights of an oncoming car. Both of his friends seemed to think Alina would either attack him with her powerful glare (which made the victim want to jump off of the North Tower) or kill him in his sleep.

However, if it was a good old-fashioned killing they were expecting, they were severely disappointed… The Australian transfer just sat, continuing her writing, not even turning around to face them, speaking in a cold, venomous, stony, and throaty voice that indicated that her thoughts were quite far removed from the Gryffindor Common Room, "Just leave me alone… Please."

So they did. The trio walked edgily through the Portrait Hole and set off to the Library, and only spoke once they had safely turned the corner of the deserted corridors. "That was creepy that was," Ron started, it seemed that just about everything Alina did was creepy to him, "it was almost as though she were depressed or something…" He tapered off, shivering slightly.

Hermione's eyes widened as though someone had just hit her over the head and given her back her proper memory. "Yeah, and now that I think about it, something was very off last night when I came back to the dormitory… I found her lying asleep on the floor, curled up like a cat or something, and there was a table leg right by her, and her mirror was shattered, all the shards of glass were surrounding her… Something happened while we were at dinner… I mean, I fixed everything, but I wonder what could possibly…" She trailed off, eyes far away, and sped off at top speed toward the library, as Harry and Ron trotted to keep up with her. 

In the library they discussed Alina's odd features. Hermione was researching auras, and Harry and Ron the power behind the eyes, but they weren't turning up much. Exasperatedly, Hermione sighed, turning to her friends, "But one of you must have seen something like it before?!"

Thinking hard, he heard Ron respond "Nope, nada."

Harry spoke, slightly wary, throwing caution to the winds as he dared to share the thoughts he had had the previous night. "I think I might have." They were staring at him now. "Remember in second year when I went down into the Chamber of Secrets, and I told you I met with the memory of Tom Riddle?… Well, that's who she reminded me of last night, it wasn't really just her eyes or just her aura or just her tone of voice, it was the whole thing, she just had a frightening resemblance to him…"

Hermione and Ron looked like this was the last thing they wanted to hear. She stuttered, "But there must have been some other place, someone else who had that kind of… That kind of… Oh, come on, think! Haven't you ever seen anyone else who had that kind of power behind their eyes, with that regal aura of ultimate power, it's just…"

Ron here interceded, "Look, I can't think of anything Hermione, and Harry probably can't either. He already said she reminded him of Tom Riddle, what more could there be? Maybe she's related to Voldemort or she's probably a Dark Witch and cast a spell to intimidate everyone."

Hermione shook her head hastily, "No, Ron, you can't get that sort of power from a spell. Believe me, I spent all last night researching this stuff, it has to be completely natural… Are you absolutely positive Harry, that you can't think of anything else?"

He strained his memory, casting his mind around until something else irked at his brain, but it couldn't be, it just couldn't… Perhaps Hermione would know what to make of it, so he spoke his mind again, but only half-believing what was escaping his mouth, the words that his lips were forming… "Actually, yeah. Last year after Voldemort came back, when Dumbledore found out about Barty Crouch, and, when he was angry with Fudge, don't you remember? It was just like that, only there was something about Alina's eyes when she looked at Snape that seemed crueler than anything I've ever seen… But her natural aura of power, the look behind her eyes when she was angry with Ernie, it was just like Dumbledore's…"

Ron rolled his eyes, looking half-shocked, half-exasperated. His mouth hung open as he spoke, "Come on Harry, you don't seriously think she's related to Dumbledore?!"

Hermione gave him a look to quiet him, "She might be, it would explain a lot, like…"

Ron pretended that he hadn't heard her and interrupted, "I mean come on, she's just evil and Dumbledore is the greatest wizard there is! That's like saying Merlin is related to Grindelwald! You're both nutters!" Ron almost screamed with the air of one accusing another of blasphemy.

Hermione cut him off, annoyed "Come off it Ron! You know very well that it's a possibility, just because people are related it doesn't mean they're going to be exactly alike! There are bad apples in every family, Alina just might be descended from a bad set in Dumbledore's. That aura of power and all of it is an inherently inherited trait, it occurs in families, common bloodlines. Just because two people are related and inherit the same power doesn't mean that they'll both choose to do the same thing with their gifts." She crossed her arms as though this settled the matter, and from the look in her eye, Harry knew that the topic was not open to debate. When Hermione had her mind set on something, there was no changing it.

Unfortunately however, Ron was not nearly so perceptive, and he opened his mouth scathingly as though to say something before Hermione, rather tetchy at that moment, fought back at him before he could say so much as anything. There was definitely something odd going on between the two, Harry had noticed it for quite awhile now, but the air of nervous tension and strong emotion of some sort seemed most apparent at this moment. "Oh Ron, I can't believe how blind you are! There are so many things you can't see! Sometimes I wonder how it is that I could possibly…" As though she just realized what she was about to say, she rescued herself and pretended that she hadn't said anything at all. Blushing furiously, she said quite simply, forceful and meek all at once, "Let's get back to work, we're not getting anything done arguing."

Harry however, found that his mind was far too full of thoughts to take in anymore, and sighed surrenderingly as he stared down blankly at the open book in front of him. "What does all this mean?"

"I have no idea."

****

~**~_~**~_~**~

Demetrius Petranni stared out at the sky from the tree he was sitting in. He wasn't by any means fond of the Forbidden Forest, but orders were orders, and he had a job to do… But his thoughts were not with Lord Voldemort, they had wandered to the previous night quite a long time ago. It was his job that landed him spying on Hogwarts, his job that had him flying past the windows in Gryffindor Tower that evening, his job that had found him staring into the face of an emotionally distraught daughter. It was his job that had his heart twanging painfully, as though he had been wounded.

He didn't know his daughter very well, and he had preferred to keep it that way… But he had had no idea that it had been this bad. Outwardly, which was the only way he knew her at all, Alina had always seemed to be the pillar of emotional strength, the strong, silent girl who could handle anything, who could shoulder any burden. Apparently however, from what he had seen the night before (he couldn't hear what she was saying, but just seeing it had been enough), this was not the case, apparently she had inherited her mother's brilliant acting skills, and his pride and sense of dignity (or at least the need to retain it at all times); not a good combination. This combo, far from being just good, rather unfortunately often ended in quite a bit of deception.

He had always hoped that Alina would take after her mother… Aurora, a beautiful English girl, had always been open and affectionate, she was charismatic, she loved everyone and everything effortlessly, and it won her the friendship of nearly everyone, she had been almost as popular as James Potter in their time, and that was really quite an accomplishment. Everyone loved Aurora, the way she always told you how she was feeling, the way she always had a smile on her face. Her heart was so big and so warm, and he wondered how lucky he had been, what he possibly could have done to earn the love of such a person, what with his stony, strong and silent heart. She hadn't had one spiteful, bitter, or hateful bone in her body. She was so perfect, she was like an angel… At least so he thought. Just thinking about her though, just with one thought of her, with even the whisper of the syllables that formed the name "Aurora," sent his heart wailing… He had tried to wall out the memory of her, of what he'd done, but it never worked; she frequented his thoughts, haunted his memory far too often for his emotional health to remain intact. It had been so many years since her death, fourteen years in fact, but his heart was still broken, broken and hardened.

He had never known he could love anyone so much, he had loved her more than life itself, loved her so much it hurt. God, she was so beautiful, so warm, so loving, so perfect, just to touch her took his breath away. He felt so undeserving, and just the sight of her would bring him happiness enough to last a lifetime. But love didn't matter when it came to the Dark Lord, orders were orders, and he had had a job to do. If he hadn't done his job, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named would have come after his family, his wife _and_ his daughter, and God only knows what would have happened then… And he knew from experience that no one escapes the Dark Lord. 

What a fool he had been. He was so young and so stupid. He had made all the wrong choices… And now he was stuck with those choices. He couldn't believe it. He wasn't a crying man, Demetrius Petranni just did not cry, it wasn't in him, but just the thought of Aurora brought tears welling in his eyes. People always say that time heals all wounds, but this, thought Demetrius, couldn't be true… After all, as much as he had tried to push away the pain, tried to push it all away, tried to forget, try to pretend it never happened, as much as he ran from it, it was still a fresh, open wound, it still broke his heart every time, just the thought of it. Sometimes the pain was so intense that he could barely even breathe, knowing what he had done. He still saw her body fall in the flash of green light, still heard his own voice shout "AVADA KEDAVRA," could still hear her screams, hear her confused pleading when she knew that he was killing her, the pain in her eyes just before the spell hit her… And after all this, loving her more than life itself it had been he who had taken it away from her, in the end it was he who had killed her. How could he have done it? How? He couldn't live with himself. He had killed the love of his life. It was his fault she was gone, his fault. He had tried to hate Lord Voldemort for her death, and he did, but not the way he hated himself. He deserved to rot in Azkaban, he knew it, he deserved the Dementor's Kiss, he knew it, but then who would care for Alina? Who would raise his child? He couldn't have left her with her godfather, that's for sure, her godfather was a dangerous man. He, Demetrius Petranni, would burn with Satan when he finally did die, when he was finally released from this pain, at least he would get what he deserved; the thought comforted him. Alina was the only reason he didn't end this bleak fog they called "life."

It hurt, not knowing his own daughter, the only kin he had left in the whole world, she was just a little girl who lived with him. It was ironic, that she was all he was living for and he didn't even know her… But it was better this way, at least, that was what he told himself. This, though most painful at the moment, in the end would serve him, he felt. He knew what was going to happen to his daughter, he knew what the Dark Lord had in store, and so he couldn't allow himself to love her. All the people he had ever loved had either run away from him, or died, and he couldn't take that sort of pain anymore. He didn't know his daughter very well but he knew she was going to die at the hands of Voldemort, one way or another, and he just wouldn't be able to bear it, losing his only kin in the world, all he had left, and if he loved her… He didn't want to think about it. 'No game, no pain,' he reminded himself, whenever he found himself reconsidering. Besides, he was probably doing her a favor, no one wanted his love, and he didn't deserve any love in return. Surely, this way was the best way.

He had hoped that she would take after her mother, but good looks and skills in acting and psychology seemed to be all there was of Aurora in her daughter. It was a tragedy, how much his daughter had taken after him. She was strong and silent just like he was, and she was never one for emotional showiness, which she, like he was, seemed to be very uncomfortable with, which she, like he did, seemed to find a vulnerability. She was proud like he was, with an innate need to keep her dignity, it seemed that just like he did, she thought of her dignity as all she had to hold on to, she could not lose it, at all costs. Just like he did, externally she seemed cool, calm, collected, and confident: strong, but internally, just like he was, she was a veritable emotional wreck. She had had so much to deal with in life already for one so young, even more then he had at that age. She had lived alone in the emptiness of money with a father who was afraid to love her, and she had never had any real friends. It was true that she had had quite a few suitors, even at her age, girls always did in magical Australian society, but it was obvious why the young gentlemen sought after her, aside from her prominent name, she held the one card that made all the difference: infatuation. They called on her for her good looks and nothing more, and she knew it. Society had always set her apart as a misfit; the world was a circle of loving people who welcomed each other with open hearts, and she just didn't belong to it. He could only wonder how lonely and painful it must be, to have never have been loved by anyone, barely even tolerated by people who truly hated her…

Demetrius had tried to hate his daughter, but it just hadn't worked, it wasn't in him. Even now it was a struggle not to love her, the one who had once been everything in the world to him. He saw now, from the things he'd witnessed the previous night, that his daughter was struggling just as he was, was hurt and broken just as he was, and the sight _nearly_ brought the man to tears. It was too hard, knowing the pain Alina must be feeling, and standing by, watching the world hurt her, and not doing anything at all. He felt his heart cry out once more, and wondered just what that was. Could it be that after all this struggling he loved her? Was it possible that after fighting it all these years that he really loved her? It couldn't be. It was beyond all reason and all logic… But wasn't love beyond all reason and all logic anyway? He wasn't sure anymore whether or not he had any feelings for his daughter now, he had always thought not, but the way his heart was wailing, that couldn't be right. He didn't know whether he wanted to have feelings for his daughter, well, of course he did, but in the end, when she was dead and gone, would it be worth it? He knew that when he had seen her, he wanted to reach out to her, to hold her and rock her like a little child, the way fathers do, and tell her everything would be alright, and make everything okay, but he couldn't, he knew that. He just wasn't that type of person, and besides, she was better off without him, wasn't she? The emptiness in his heart was stifling, and he felt more lonely than he had ever felt before.

Was it possible that after all this that she was just as hurt and alone as he was? Was it possible that she needed him too? He wondered whether or not it was worth the chance to try…

****

~**~_~**~_~**~

Alina Petranni watched as Harry Potter, Ron Weasley, and Hermione Granger stalked out of the Portrait Hole, leaving her all alone again. She wondered vaguely just what she had done to make them hate her so very much… Well, it made perfect sense, she supposed, it was nothing more nor nothing less than _natural_ for that muggle-born girl, Hermione, to hate her, such was the liberty of being a muggle-born, and it was clear that Harry and Ron hated her because she had hurt their friend, somehow. She couldn't blame them, she already hated herself anyway. 

She thought of the passings that had transpired the previous night, and felt a painful emptiness, more lonely than she had ever felt before. It seemed that she didn't have any feeling left in her lonely soul, as though she had screamed it all out, every emotion she had, in that fiasco last night, and now it felt like there was nothing left. Feeling nothing at all but emptiness and a dark open space, unsure of everything and anything at all, she stared out bleakly into space, and although she had continued to write, she was barely even aware of the movements of her quill. She just wanted to be left alone, and yet, all at once, she couldn't stand it any longer.

****

~**~_~**~_~**~

It was 4:20 when Harry, Ron, and Hermione left the library, confused as ever, deciding to visit the Great Hall to see what was going on. The fight was winding down at last, as Professor Dumbledore… _Was_ that Professor Dumbledore? Harry could only barely tell him apart from the rest, because everyone was so caked in food that their features were almost entirely masked. Anyhow, Professor Dumbledore magically magnified his voice, and proclaimed that the fight was over, and that since they had missed their first two afternoon classes, they need only attend their last class of the day, and had until 4:40 PM to ready themselves and be found in their proper, respective classrooms. This left everyone except Hermione cheering, who complained loudly that the school day should be extended so they could fit in all three classes instead of just the last one, and dinner would be at 8:20 instead of six o'clock. This, however, surprised no one. Harry figured that the only reason that they were even holding class was to give Filch and the House-Elves ample time to tidy up a bit before dinner, after all, he couldn't see the floor (nor the, table, nor the chairs, nor the walls, nor the ceiling), because _everything_ was completely covered in food. It seemed as though the Great Hall was really an ever-expanding dimension, a universe of splattered nourriture, and brightly colored though it was, it probably wasn't that comfortable to sit or walk in, and after a while the smell would most certainly become unbearable. He laughed to himself as he was hit by a sudden image of Alina Petranni trying to get around in this mess, or at least refusing to do so.

They walked through the halls, listening to their friends recount the wonderful, lavish details of the food fight, cleaning themselves up a bit with the scouring charm, and wishing they had been there. Harry was a bit annoyed that Ron and Hermione had dragged him away from what was surely a one-time event, a raucous good time that would never happen again, just to see Alina Petranni do her History of Magic homework and add to his confusion when it came to her. Ron was missing it sorely as well, but not as much as Harry, and everyone except, of course, for Hermione was elated that they had missed two lessons, one of which had been the infamous History of Magic (the other had been Herbology).

"So, what've we got?" Harry asked, too lazy to stop and fish for his own schedule. 

"Oooo," Hermione said, looking at the red and gold slip in her hand, "Defense Against the Dark Arts! We'll get to see whether or not this year's teacher is up to the scratch." With that, they hurried off to the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom, eager to see what the new teacher, Professor Sanies, was made of.

Choosing a table at the front of the class, they were among the first of the Gryffindors and Ravenclaws to arrive. Professor Sanies didn't appear, however, until the room was filled with her students, and even then, she took her time. She arrived in sunglasses, oddly enough, and introduced herself, "Hello everyone, I'm Professor Lorelei Sanies, but I want everyone calling me Lorelei, anything else is so formal it makes me feel old," she grinned, showing her even white teeth. She spoke in a very odd manner, and Harry remembered that she was American, of course, Americans were well known for their funny talk. She was still wearing sunglasses as she reached for the roll, and everyone was staring. Sensing the odd looks, she looked up and realized, "You're all wondering 'bout the shades," she said, flipping them up like a headband and grinning broadly. "I confess, it's one of my crazier obsessions… I'm addicted to all things muggle," Harry gave Ron a sharp look, "but I can't resist muggle designer sunglasses, I've got all sorts of crazy pairs, I _always_ wear them, either those or clear Wild-Eye contacts that make your eyes look different colors or designs. Anyway, to business. First I'm afraid, I'm gonna have to take attendance, but after I get to know you guys, we won't have to deal with such tedious chores."

Harry, having nothing else to do, watched her as he waited for his name. She was pretty, he supposed. She had bright strawberry-blonde hair that looked almost orange, falling stick-straight and thick high on her back, vivid, piercing electric blue eyes, and was very short and very skinny, tiny in every respect. She was a bit tired looking, and there were the most subtle hints of dark circles under eyes, but her skin was frighteningly pale, almost sheet-white, as though she hadn't seen the sun in twenty years… But she was always grinning, and there was a warmth about her that one couldn't help but trust her. There was something about her face that reminded him of someone, but search his mind though he did, Harry couldn't think of who it could possibly be. Shrugging inwardly, he redirected his thoughts, pulling out his textbook.

"Put those back," she smiled at them, "they'll mainly be dust collectors, you won't need them that often. Okay, today you'll basically be bored out of your wits because it'll basically be all me talking nonstop, which I promise, you'll never hear my voice for such a long, uninterrupted time again. Do try to pay attention though, if you want to be successful in this class. Okay, first, a little bit about myself, you know my name, I'm young enough that I can still tell you how old I am, twenty-nine, and I'm an ex-Auror, freshly imported for the fight against the Dark Lord, and I could tell you all of my other credentials but that would be boring, and besides, I've already got the job." Another grin. "Relax guys! I promise you, I am not in league with You-Know-Who, nor am I a big-headed fraud of a celebrity, nor am I a werewolf, nor am I under the Polyjuice Potion, and I wish nothing but the best for all of you. You guys haven't had the best of luck with Defense teachers, have you? Hopefully that will change this year. Anyway, this class, okay, down to the straight, hard business…"

Was she _ever_ unhappy? Harry wondered as he watched her smile continually, even when she seemed to be attempting to be serious. "Okay, here's the deal, I don't believe in homework, so… Wow, look at those faces light up!" He glanced around the room, everyone, except for Hermione, was now wearing a Lorelei-Sanies-esque grin. "I think it's a waste of your time and mine, it's more for the younger kids who have to get into the habit and really need the practice and the know-how, but you guys are as close to adults as you can get here, and now that the Dark Lord has returned, you deserve to be treated as such. This means however, that you get the responsibilities along with the perks and privileges… I'm not going to run around after you, babying you, unless of course, I see your performance drop, in which case, I'll have to… The there's case B, where you start acting like a baby, in which case, I'll have to treat you like a baby. You have been warned, don't let this be you. I will not tolerate disrespect in any form, whether it be aimed at me or your fellow students, you will loose points on the first offense. Second offense, and it's open season on your humiliation for the rest of the class day… Three strikes and you're out, third offense, you're gone, out, not coming back." She stopped smiling and gave them all a cold glare to put any potential trouble-makers in their places, a look so reminiscent of Professor McGonagall that the little hairs on the back of Harry's neck stood on end.

Grinning once more, looking as friendly and bubbly as ever, as though nothing had happened, she continued, "The grading system is simple, as far as your average goes, all grades hold equal weight. Yup, tests, quizzes, and lab practicals all count the same, they differ only in length, style, and level of difficulty. All assignments that I hand for class work, be they an essay or a lab write-up, are due at the end of the week, on Friday, unless I tell you otherwise, and they go in that bin over there," she pointed to a row of sparkling, flashing magical bins at the back of the classroom. "Each class has their own respective bin, so any of you would put yours in either Ravenclaw Five or Gryffindor Five, depending. OWLs are coming this year, yes I know, snore, but that means that I must prepare you for them as well, and I will be holding prep-sessions towards the end of the year."

"What else? Oh yes, test-corrections! I don't know if you've had this before, but when you get your tests back, if you take all your wrong answers, on a separate sheet, write down and explain the correct response (no cock and bull explanations, I'll be able to tell), you get half credit back. Let's say you got an 80 then, and you do test corrections, you get a 90. This benefits everyone because it means that you get a higher average, and it means that you actually take a second look, God forbid, at your test, and actually make an effort to understand your mistakes and the test, and _learn_ from it." She grinned even more broadly as she feigned a gasp. "Also, at the end of each unit, we play review games, and I just may randomly do trivia during class time. For each correct answer, not only do you earn your house points, but you earn yourself bonus points on a test, quiz or lab grade. That," she pointed to a magical chart over her head, "keeps track of all your points per semester and total, so I don't have to… Onto Peer-Tutoring, that's self-explanatory, anyone involved, whether tutor or tutoree, earns points for themselves and their house. Now, as valuable as classroom experience is, nothing serves you better than first hand experience, which I will do my best to introduce by…"

She went on a bit, discussing the finer points of things, but by the time she had finished, there was still a lot of class time left. Deciding to use up the remaining time, she said "Well, we've got free-time, usually we'll use this to just talk about whatever we want, debate current topics, or I could tell you a story, I've got lots of those." She grinned broadly, dropping down casually on her desk and pulling her legs in so she was sitting Indian-style. "We could have a little dueling competition, play a little game, or just hang out and listen to music, it'll be generally your choice, but, this is a dictatorship, so, I will have the final input. Now," she was always smiling, "you've heard me go on and on and on, how about I hear from you, get to know my fifth year Gryffindors and Ravenclaws?" Thus, they spent the rest of the class talking to her, getting to know her, throwing in opinions on all sorts of things.

By the time the bell rang, which happened far too quickly for anyone's liking, everyone agreed that Professor Sanies, or Lorelei, rather, was one of the coolest teachers they'd ever had. Even Hermione loved her, even though there wouldn't be any homework, because Lorelei was very passionate about intellectual debate and what was going on in the world, a definite book worm who loved her subject far too much, which appealed to everyone, especially Hermione. Ron, on his way out of his seat, put in jovially "Did I mention that Defense Against the Dark Arts is my new favorite subject?" Harry, Ron, and Hermione were the last students out the door, and, all smiles, bid Lorelei goodbye as she flipped on her sunglasses and waved them out merrily as she disappeared into her office.

"Professor Sanies' cheerfulness is definitely contagious," Harry remarked as he noticed the broad grins that each of his classmates (including himself) was sporting. The only person who wasn't smiling at all, in fact, was Alina Petranni, no surprises there. She had been oddly quiet in classes today, especially this one, considering the fact that she usually was quite outspoken and eager to answer every question, and, he noticed, Professor Sanies didn't seem to like her. Perhaps Lorelei knew what everyone except for he, Hermione, and the Weasleys seemed to know, but in any case, it mattered little, the enemy of his enemy was his friend, it only gave him more reason to like her.

****

~**~_~**~_~**~

Alina Petranni shut the Portrait of the Fat Lady quietly behind her, she had just gotten out of Defense Against the Dark Arts, and she wasn't hungry. The emptiness inside of her stretched on into forever, and she was looking forward to sitting down alone, just she and her thoughts, and possibly a sheet of parchment. However, it seemed that fate would not grant her even this…

A first year girl, no doubt a muggle-born, was looking for Hermione Granger and carrying a muggle boom box. Asked why she wanted to see Hermione, the little girl turned around with a swish of long dark brown hair and said quite simply and warily that she wanted to listen to her new CD, but her CD player didn't seem to be working, and she knew that, being the smartest girl in the school, Hermione could fix it for her. Eagerly, Alina offered to fix the boombox for her, save her the trouble of finding Hermione, after all, Hermione wasn't the only one who knew how to do such things. Alina liked to help those in need, not just for the happy smiles she'd see on their faces, but because it reassured her that she was in fact a good person, worthy of the life she'd been given, that maybe she wasn't some sort of monster after all, that she could be a good human being. She could be a good pureblood. Besides, she was eager to hear popular modern muggle music, she had always been fascinated by muggle culture, and studied muggles and their world with great passion, and although she had played muggle CDs, her listening media had been limited. Father had always been rather strict about music in the house, and had allowed only classical music to infiltrate the manor. Needless to say, as much as she loved the melody of Bach, Mozart, Beethoven, Handel, and all the others, she felt a craving seated deep within her to hear to hear what the rest of the world was hearing. Perhaps it was her heart that needed to hear it, her heart that needed to feel a common thread to connect her to someone, to something, that would mean she was not alone.

In any case, she was once again deprived of these experiences, as the girl, her dark eyes widened with fear and realization, and the short little pip-squeak gasped, "You're Alina Petranni!" 

Alina rolled her eyes, and nodded, "Yeah, so?"

The girl dropped the boombox softly on an armchair and baked away slowly, her right arm extended, shaking a warning finger at the fifth year before her as she slowly sidled toward the Portrait Hole, eyes like tea saucers, bulging in alarm. "Don't you dare touch that, or I'll tell! I don't want _you _putting any dark magic in _my_ CD player! I mean, there'll be trouble!" And with that, the short little shrimp of a girl ran off down to dinner.

Alina scowled after her, her yellow-green eyes darkening, anger rising out of the emptiness. So, put dark magic in it would she? She was getting mighty sick of all this being pegged as a Dark Witch, and, as her breathing got more heavy, her heart racing, her heart paining her like a wound, she shook her head softly as though it would prove her innocence… Biting her lip to keep out any screaming that just might escape her mouth, and thought bitterly of Ernie MacMillan, the spineless coward spreading unfounded rumors about her, without mercy, without trying to understand, just mindlessly parroting lies about her, without a second thought, a spineless coward indeed. She felt rage and sorrow sweep over her like a tsunami, and once again she found herself fighting back tears. Knowing that she was threatening to lose control once more, she called in all her reserves, every last particle of inner strength she had in her, to live up to her own standards, to be the super-human pureblood she was supposed to be.

She spoke aloud to herself, gritting her teeth against the torrent of feeling, trying to reassure herself that she could beat it, that she could win… "Emotion is a weakness! Emotional show is undignified! Every violation of modesty will be repaid with an attack! Emotional show makes you vulnerable! They will take advantage of every vulnerability you present, and then you'll be sorry! The true pureblood is above human flaws, above negative emotion, above emotional show!"

It was as though she was repeating all the lessons she'd ever learned. Life with the wolves had taught her all these things, among many others, it was one of the few things she had gained from living, and she learned how to suffer in silence, feel the emptiness of money, how to indulge herself in self-loathing. Magical Australian society, much like Victorian British society in the muggle world, was all about suppressing human emotion as vulgar and undignified, presenting an ornate mask to the world, about rising above the flaws of humanity and human emotion, about suppressing and mutating your personality and individuality to either hide them deep within the fathoms of the self or become another mindless zombie of high society. It aspired to a super-human ideal of impossible standards, standards that defied humanity at the very least. What Alina failed to recognize, growing up in this world, was just how impossible this standard was, and that _no one_ had or could reach it. She was blinded by her need to be the best person she could be, blinded by her quest to attain perfection, blinded in that she could not recognize that all the people around her were, in fact frauds. Instead, she saw a world full of people who had achieved the ideal, leaving her all alone, a world in which she alone was incompetent, too weak to suppress her weaknesses. And weakness was something she could not tolerate. She knew only that she was more than what she pretended to be, and that she could never reach the ideals of the world that surrounded her. 

She knew the laws were cruel and unjust, how many times had she cried out against them? She knew that living in that world was killing her slowly, from the inside – out, and instead of fighting it, instead of rebelling against what she knew was wrong and taking their torture, she put on the ornate mask, and she slowly began to realize it. She felt her soul polluted, felt herself dying away, and screamed out at herself for allowing it to happen. She had faced the punishment of her society, a punishment beyond your imagination, where instead of bodily torture, they kill you from the inside, they crucify your heart, destroy your soul, and murder everything about who you are, just for being different. After having experienced this, she recoiled, she stopped fighting, she played their little game and danced their little dance, just so they wouldn't hurt her anymore. No one could have stood this soul-murder, it was beyond humanity to be able withstand this torture and this pain, but she had no way of knowing this, and took it for her own internal weakness, her own inability, her own horrible, spineless cowardice.

We condemn most in others what we hate inside ourselves. This was especially true for Alina, consciously or subconsciously, it matters little, she condemned weakness and cowardice in the people around her because she thought those qualities were in the darker part of herself, because she thought of herself as weak and a coward, and she hated herself for it. Every night she told herself how weak she was, what a foolish coward she was, what a hypocrite she was. Every night she told herself that she was a failure as a human being.

She was dying in Australia, and now that she had finally escaped, she found herself in a completely new world, recognizing nothing, even more alone than she had ever been. In hopes of filling the empty space in her heart, she enchanted the boombox to run on magic, and played the CD, which, she noticed, was by the Goo Goo Dolls, and called "Dizzy Up the Girl," a rather odd title. As she pressed the play button however, she noticed that it was starting at track number ten, something that CD's were not supposed to do… She laughed it off, "Perhaps I was meant to hear track ten," she mused aloud, having no idea how right she was. She sat back, attempted to relax, and allowed the mellow rock tunes to fill her ears, listening to it speak to her heart in a way nothing else ever had…

__

They painted up your secrets

With the lies they told to you

And the least they ever gave you

Was the most you ever knew

And I wonder where these dreams go 

When the world gets in your way

What's the point in all this screaming

No one's listening anyway

Your voice is small and fading

And you hide in here unknown

And your mother loves your father

'Cause she's got nowhere to go

And she wonders where these dreams go

'Cause the world got in her way

What's the point in ever trying

Nothing's changing anyway

They press their lips against you

And you love the lies they say

And I tried so hard to reach you

But you're falling anyway

And you know I see right through you

'Cause the world gets in your way

What's the point in all this screaming

You're not listening anyway…

(Acoustic #3 by John Rzeznik)

The song was very short, and it ended quickly, but she shut off the CD player, not sure she wanted to hear anymore. Sitting casually, her eyes seemed the closest to tears that they had ever been in these past six years, but she managed to fight them back once again. She whispered, half to herself, half to no one at all "Please, I _am_ listening. I'll do anything…" She let her small voice fade into nothingness as it reverberated in the silence surrounding and engulfing her, destroyed by the blackness all around her, the blackness that was slowly drowning her.

The song spoke to her in a way that made it seem all hers, it seemed to be a song about her, not literally of course, considering that her mother was dead ("And no amount of dreaming will bring her back," as she often told herself)… But the song was a metaphor for her life, at least, this was what she felt, but she didn't want to indulge in this, everything in her mind depended on her changing, on being the better person she was supposed to be once the mask fell.

Confused and trying to block it all out with her mind, she picked up her book on human psychology and continued to read where she had left off a few nights ago. Perhaps it was fate that the first line she read was "People don't change, they grow."

Angry, her heart heavy with sorrow, she slammed the book shut and threw it to the floor as though it were a venomous snake. Was God simply trying to remind her that she was no good? Was fate trying to remind her what a horrible girl she was, and that she'd always be horrible? It seemed so unfair that she couldn't change, everything depended on it, her heart was set on it, it was all she had ever wished for, the embodiment of every hope and every dream she had ever had, of the vapor of stardust, it was everything… And here was this book, telling her she couldn't change?! Telling her she'd always be stuck with her rotten self?! How dare it… It couldn't be true could it, because if it was, she was doomed, she was sure of it… Because who could grow anything worthwhile out of this mess of a monster?

Walling out any possibility of tears, she set out for her dormitory, whispering "But I've got change, I've just got to…"

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~**~_~**~_~**~

It was late at night when the trio returned to the Common Room, and Harry was surprised at the rapid development of the photographs of the food fight. As soon as he had walked in, he was greeted with flashing magical pictures of the food fight, with a giant banner stretched across the entire common room with glittering golden words flashing "THE GREAT FOOD FEUD OF '95." The pictures scanned the food-covered Great Hall, with memorable moments captured, such as Flitwick's pumpkin juice tsunami, Harry's ketchup message on the back of the Slytherin Head of House, the pizza soldiers attacking Snape, Dumbledore's tomato grand slams, Hermione's food bombs, Ferret-Food-Malfoy, Ron's meatball missiles, and many more. Jovial Gryffindors surrounded him, cheering as he entered, it seemed as though the party was waiting for him, and Fred and George, handing the three friends each a butterbeer, and raising their bottles. Fred took the initiative…

"Pea-Face Harry Potter, this afternoon, you started an event that will forever go down in Hogwart's history."

George followed, close behind, "You've given us a memorable bang to start our seventh and final year, we owe you big time."

"Except now we're going to have to outdo you in June when it comes time for the Seventh Year Prank! You dirty scoundrel, Harry."

"So we propose a toast, to you Harry, and the Great Food Feud of '95!"

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~**~_~**~_~**~

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A/N:Wow, that chapter sunk to new levels of disgust in my mind. Now _I_ must congratulate you if you made it to the end of this, but again, I don't know what else to do. Since everyone is telling me to stop being so hard on myself, I'm going to stop telling you how hard I am on myself, but this is a mark of just how much I hate this chapter, it's really bad. This is perhaps _the_ most tedious, forced, putrid, horrid thing I've ever written. Ah, well, I did a bit f time hopping here, as you can see. You got into the head of a new person, Alina's father, Demetrius Petranni, which hopefully got you thinking a bit, and you met a new character, Professor Lorelei Sanies… hmmm… Actually, the Professor Sanies I have created has a lot of basis in my 9th grade bio teacher, Mrs. Lascarides, who was just the coolest teacher I've ever had, but I'll shut up before I ramble on forever… Hmmm…. Oh, before I forget, I do not own the song Acoustic #3, and I have already given due credit to John Rzeznik, so no accusations of plagiarism please! I actually was listening to my Goo Goo Dolls CD driving up to Canada a few weeks ago, and Acoustic #3 really hit me, and I just had to put it in the story. Ah, now before my critics out there get to me, I'll say this, okay, I know "Dizzy Up the Girl" is copyrighted 1998, but I'm pretending that it was out by '95, so those of you who know this CD, just go with it, okay? What else? Oh yes, I'm sorry that it took this long for the chapter to come up, but I went to Canada on vacation, then the site was down (and still kind of is) and I procrastinated, but I'm going to upstate NY on vacation again, and I wanted to put this up before I left again. Furthermore, I'm sorry about all the errors in ch 4, my dad was screaming at me to get off the computer, and under the pressure to finish I didn't have time to spell check or make sure I didn't skip any words, so that's my excuse. I'd like to add, just 'cause, that, since I'm writing this on August 5, my sixteenth birthday is only in 6 days, this Saturday! Yay! J Happy Birthday to me. Okay, I'll stop, sorry, I'm just very excited… So, please review this, I'd really love to know some of your thoughts and suspicions and all on some of the things I brought up. Now, I can't get to my review board, but I save all my review-mail, so I'll attempt to thank all of you, and since on the e-mail they don't tell me what chapter the review is responding to, I hope you'll forgive me if I miss anyone. Okay, I'll do my personal thanking now…

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Jona: yes, I do luv reviews from sleep-deprived maniacs. Thanx, glad u c Alina's complexities, but amazing, come on!

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Ravenclaw_Filly: oh, plz, don't tell me after all that u still think shes a mary-sue?! ::crazed maniac puppy dog eyes:: - one of the more respected authors? ME? Ur joking right? Omg, I really don't deserve tha, but thanx, I mean, wow, im speechless ::blushing furiously::

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Lucky_Woods: hey I warned u! first line of my authors note, right out there so even skimming people could see it! U loved it, wow, thanx. Yup, its got a bit of US apartheid in it, but a lot of it has to do w/victorian british society abt a million times worse – as I said in my letter to amadeus, its american/s.african apartheid, british imperialistic india, nazi germany, etc, a mosaic of unhappy societies.

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Jedi_Cosmos: good that wer clear on that, lol. It was depressing w/Alina wasn't it? That really came totally out of nowhere, the ch just drove itself. If I did infact do a great portrayal of a depressed and confused person its b/c at times I have been that person. Ill tell u this, I put a lot of my darker qualities and internal struggles into Alina, I gave her a lot of my problems, even tho im not a rich, prejudiced upperclass girl, etc etc, theres a lot of me in her. It's a great way to finally spill some of ur problems w/o having to feel awkward abt it. Yes, Voldie has plans for her. Iv worked out Alina, and L is all that can be said bout that, whatll happen to her that is, poor Alina. I luv her, shes me – partly at least, and shes my creation.

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Princess: yes she is very interesting and complex, at least I think so… as I said, arthurs letter is just a measure of how dangerous it all is, how urgent, yatayatayata. Thanx. Get 19 up, now! Will review when I can.

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Ady: excellent ch? Wow, thanx. Yup, I was hoping someone would pick up on the eyes, so I made it obvious, but it's a hint to something else if u look carefully, well, not yet, b/c I don't think iv hinted at that yet, but o ull c… yup Voldemorts got BIG plans for her, which I think iv made a bit obvious as well, or mayb that's just me, dunno, nope, she doesn't have a happy story ahead of her, well, parts of it….. shutting up now… cant like cant hate her, can only pity her, most perfect reaction I could ask for J 

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Amadeus: wow, I really don't deserve all this praise u kno, but thanx, im glad u like it!

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Abbey: thanx!

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Shadow: thanx

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Fay: wow, so uv read Ady? Great, gotta luv her stories, and she told me she was glad someone got some use out of her faves. Amazing author that grl. J omg, im not THAT good, making u eat lunch while reading? Wow. That does a lot for my ego! I really don't deserve all this praise, but thanx anyway, glad u like it! Ahhh, the "how trustworthy…" note, yes, that was actually one of my fave lil things, it came to me suddenly, an inspired moment. However, I must give credit to that to my english teacher ms. Murphy, b/c in like nov or something when we were doing Catcher in the Rye, by JD Salinger, we were talking abt Holden as a narrator, and she posed to us the question of how honest he was being, and I thought o wow, an untrustworthy narrator, the possibility never occurred to me b4, and I thought it was absolutely wonderful, so I stole the idea. J ur right, it was Alina, im glad some people picked up on that. U liked my prophetic warning? J thanx. Wow, im gonna get a big head w/all this or something, thanx a lot!

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Nagh: thanx! Glad u like it!

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Sea Faerie: awesome, hooked on it? Wow, thanx. Yes, as she is all dark and mysterious and strong looking externally isnt she, but ur right, inside she is soft and broken, shes human, struggling w/human emotion. In fact, ill tell u something, I put a lot of myself, my darker qualities, my internal struggles, my battles, etc into Alina, so Alina is pseudo-me in quite a few ways, no im not a rich, prejudiced upperclass grl, etc, but in many ways, she has my darker qualities and struggles. I luv her for this reason. Its really a great way to write off ur problems and tell every1 whats going on and spill ur problems w/o doing it directly, of course, not every single problem Alina has is mine, but a majority of them r, yes as I just said, it's a great guilty pleasure, like therapy or something, when u want to tell every1 how hard it really is sometimes, u can do it this way, indirectly, w/o worrying abt how they'll c u or feeling awkward. As to ur note to darth yoda, I want to thank u for sticking up for me, or the story at least, uv said everything I wish I could, but cant, being the author. But genius, extravagant, I don't think I deserve that! Thanx tho J im glad u like it.

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Rachy: hormones? Lol, I guess u could put it that way, she IS a teenage grl after all, her emotions r going 1000 mph, but it goes deeper than that, shesgot deeper-seated issues that any of us would have difficulty dealing w/. as I said to others b4, Alina is really a pseudo-me, iv given her a lot of (ok so im not an arrogant upperclass girl, and she has probs I don't and vice versa, u get the pt) my own probs, my own internal struggles, the darker parts of me that I hide from the world. I luv her for this reason, b/c shes party me and I created her. Yup, shes deff got issues, or rather, iv got some issues, lol. It's a great way to write out ur emotions whe u feel like telling people what ur feeling and how hard things r sometimes, and that u have got problems, w/o feeling awkward and worrying bout how they'll c u. shes got a lot of other things u havent even seen yet tho, I don't think iv written in the "m I really a shallow, empty monster incapable of true human feeling and human love" thing yet have I? That's a painful issue iv battled w/a lot, and m looking forward to writing in. u luv it? Wow, thanx…

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Daydreamer: yes I m evil, making a beautiful place like australia hold such a horrible society, but, it had to be put somewhere, so… yes, she probably would have been a nice grl, its sad isnt it, the way society ruined her? The mask is beginning to fall, but its not that ez for her to bcome suitable to this new world shes in, she came from a completely diff place, its not that ez to grow into something so diff, it takes time, acceptance, and possibly pain. Nope the trio wont ever trust her, they c one side of her that isnt worthy of trust. Just like sea faerie said, on the outside shes all dark and mysterious, but inside shes really soft and almost broken. Shes a very complex character. Her eyes, do have _something_ to do w/Voldemort, very clever of u franny, no one else picked up on that, btu theres a lot more to it than that ::mwahahahaha:: great great great? Wow, thanx. Since im finishing typing this at the moment at almot 11 am aug 6, im prob posting it after ur first day, sad really. Iv still got abt a month of summertime left. Hope u had a good first day!


	6. The Cimeriian Mysteries

Author's Note: Hello everyone ****

Author's Note: Hello everyone! I'm in an oddly good mood tonight (August 24), and guess what, I have almost no clue what I'm going to write in this chapter, only the vaguest idea whatsoever!!! You know what that means? It means I can't do any chapter bashing! Not at least until my Post-A/N! Yay!!! Everyone's happy! Now, this will definitely be one of those chapters that comes completely drives itself, so if it takes the most extremely odd turn, hey (!) I warned you! That cleared up, onward ho! On to Chapter Six!

Chapter Six

The Cimeriian Mysteries

Harry Potter woke up the next morning completely unaware of his surroundings. He strained his mind, attempting to find some thought, some recollection of the space in the middle of darkness that he was sitting in, of who he was, of _when_ he was, and of what had just happened… But alas, _nothing_, absolutely NOTHING… He gulped slightly, feeling a lump rise in his stomach, the organ turning over slightly, his blood boiling with a start as he felt the adrenaline rush speedily through him, flooding his body. His heart was pounding in his rib cage, and the _thump, thump_ was so loud he almost started. Surely, surely he couldn't be in just the middle of nowhere, and surely his loudly beating heart would give him away, which, when coupled with the heavy sound of his breathing, told him that whoever was out there would find him… Realizing this, Harry closed his mouth, if he couldn't control his quickly-pounding heart, he could at least silence the sound of respiration, but this too, failed, for often, when one is conscious of one's breathing, and tries to quiet it by sealing one's oral cavity, one finds that one can not breathe at all… Thus, almost completely blue in the face, he released the pressure and allowed the Carbon Dioxide to escape, trying to make sense out of the empty blackness that surrounded him. 

The ebony blanket that consumed him was so thick and so real that he seemed to be as good as floating in a vacuum in space: he pressed his finger onto the tip of his nose, and although he felt its presence, he could see nothing but the empty, black space. Harry wasn't by any means claustrophobic (how else could he have spent his childhood in a cupboard?) but suddenly he found himself completely unable to take in any oxygen at all. He was _suffocating_… 

Panic flooding his every nerve, he knew that he had to get out of wherever he was, to find _some_ kind of light, but it didn't seem that there was anything but black anywhere, at least anywhere even remotely within his reach… He wondered, with a thrill of foreboding, if he had some how ventured into Intermundia in his dreams and gotten lost on the way back, if he had gotten stuck between planes of existence. Mind jumping around frantically, attempting to calm himself, he reasoned that his only way out of this was to feel his way across his surroundings, and, swallowing, thinking about just what he might run into in the dark, he inched slowly to his left. Quite suddenly, he felt the bottom drop out of half of him, and he jumped, running briefly into something on his way flying away from the edge.

Unfortunately however, he was more than just a bit over-enthusiastic in his frantic leap to the right, and he was to pay for his lack of consideration… It had just never occurred to him that whatever he was sitting on might have ended not to far from him on the right side as well… Suddenly realizing that there was now nothing to support his weight but the empty air around him, he grabbed fiercely onto a sort of velvety sheet that he ran into headlong.

The force of this sent him whirling, still clutching onto the hanging sheet, his body circled around into the opposite direction at supersonic speed, so fast that the wind seem to howl around him, and he didn't even have the time to realize that he was no longer surrounded by an infinite, never-ending stream of blackness. With a horrific _bang_ his legs slammed into a huge hardwood something with the painful force of a bullet. His sudden halt in clockwise rotation sent his torso whirring in the opposite direction, tearing the sheet from his grasp. This, however, was brief, as the back of his head collided sickeningly straight on with a horridly solid, hardwood post. Finally falling, a sensation that seemed to last an eternity, he sank onto a very familiar carpeted floor… 

Clutching the back of his head in the searing, cold-rush-of-blood pain, he closed his eyes for only a moment. When he opened them, he felt a sudden rush of feeling sweep over him… Infinite stupidity. Groaning slightly to himself, he found himself facing a fallen scarlet hanging, and looking up: his bed. How could he have been such a moron? Of course it had been his bed he had woken up in, where else would he have been?… But then… How had he gotten there? Why had it been so dark? It had all seemed so very frighteningly real. 

Although he had figured out where he was and who he was, he still had no idea what had happened. He couldn't believe how abysmally stupidly he had behaved just a few minutes ago, and he hung his head, eyes closed, in shame, shame over his momentary panic, his acting like (what he felt to be) a little child. Rubbing the back of his head in pain, he felt a sick swoop of nausea overcome him as the vomit rising in his throat fell through his esophagus, and threatened to return to his oral cavity. His whole body aching, sweating, and feeling as though every inch of his skin was on fire, shaking slightly, he wondered vaguely whether or not he was going to be violently ill; he certainly felt like it… 

And then it happened…

It seemed that the recollection of his identity, the recognition of his surroundings, they were accompanied most unfortunately by the realization of just how much pain he was in… It hit him like a wave of freezing ocean water. It started (who could have guessed anything else?) in his scar, as these things always had. Splitting open with white-hot flames, it erupted into dark convulsions of sheer agony. Spreading like wildfire across his flesh, the pain rotted away at his skin, and he felt the familiar sharp, horrific, miserable, demonic pain of poison: of the poisoned blades of Intermundia. Harry knew that there was absolutely nothing else there, but his vision blurred as he felt them skate violently across his body. Releasing the horrific and violent groan that was pushing its way out of his vocal cords, he heard another strangled cry, and the pain disappeared just as quickly and easily as it had come, leaving nothing but an achy sort of residue. He cast his mind about, trying desperately to recall the events of the previous night…

He remembered coming back to the Common Room late at night with Ron and Hermione. He remembered finding a party there, had it been for him? He remembered accepting a drink from someone… And then, nothing at all. His memory seemed to fade into blackness as though someone was slowly turning off the lights, and found the sound suddenly muted out.

His head spinning dizzily, he looked up to see who had cried out, and found himself staring into the face of his best friend, Ron Weasley. The look of horror on his comrade's visage was so evident, Harry would've sworn that his face was crawling with Aragog-sized acromantulas. Bewildered beyond belief, he watched as his friend dove behind the bed and emerged a split second later, wand at the ready. "Ron, what the bloody hell are you doing?" Harry almost screamed in a painfully harsh and violent manner that was very unlike him (but then again, he had been in a lot of pain).

Ron's dark blue eyes widened disbelievingly, "Harry? Is that really you? I thought… Oh God… What…" He didn't seem to be able to speak in full sentences, indeed, he seemed to be having a whole lot of trouble stringing just two words together.

"Of course it's me," he snapped impatiently, "who else would it be?" He breathed deeply and felt some sort of peace slowly descend onto him, like a bright white fog in the dead of night. This calm however, did not last quite as long as he might have hoped as he was hit by a sudden realization… Springing up onto his feet, he ran to a mirror, and, purely out of shock, he felt his heart skip a beat and cold horror spread throughout his bloodstream like a disease… And when he saw his reflection in that thin pane of glass, he screamed.

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Meanwhile, in the dark of the woods deep in the heart of the unknown, a voice was calling out: a servant was crying for its master… Hearing the summons, Lord Voldemort appeared out of the darkness, his black cloak blending in almost completely with the dark green of the pine trees that seemed to stretch on into eternity.

His mouth twitched into a lipless, manic smile. "Ah, Cimerii…It is done?"

The pupils behind the mask glittered, and a voice spoke from beneath the costume, a voice so muffled and so deep and so unreal that it seemed almost completely and utterly inhuman. "It is done my Lord. The first stage has been completed. The girl is in much distress, and will find herself closer to you with every moment, from the very second she awakes. It is a certainty."

The Dark Lord's blood-red eyes sparkled sickeningly, the look of pleasure on his face so horrific that any innocent bystander might have found themselves rather violently ill, and probably looking their morning's breakfast in the face. It was a look of bloodshed and black magic; of terror and chills; of war and death; of darkness and emptiness; of all the terrible attrocious things in this world and the next: it was the look of true evil. His bright snow-white skin shone in the moonlight, glimmering in the darkness like a star or even a bicycle-reflector, like the sudden, flashing reflection of color that appears in the eyes of a dog in darkness, the sort that often terrifies small children into hysterics, mistaking their affectionate family pet for a miserable monster. 

The servant, Cimerii, or whoever it was, didn't even flinch as it watched its master, hungry for power and for pain, but started with a despairing and horrified jump and jerk when Voldemort, starving for suffering, called out to it "You're doing very well, Petranni. If you continue your faithful service, I will have your daughter before the end of the year."

Quite obviously, the servant did not take quite kindly to being called by the name it had once been given, and did not like being reminded of its daughter. Shaking with an unidentifiable emotion, the servant turned on its heel and vanished.

Voldemort smiled to himself, there was no torture quite like it: not even the Cruciatus curse pained his servant so much as the calling of its family name.

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~**~_~**~_~**~

Ron was horrified beyond all doubt, beyond belief, more horrified than he had ever been in his entire life, as he looked into his friend's mangled face, ridden with green scars… And as if this weren't bad enough, Harry had a humungous black bruise on his left cheek, almost taking up an entire side of his face. It wasn't the fact that Harry had a fist-sized black-and-blue, but it was the shape that the bruise took that was so unnerving… It was the Dark Mark.

Ron was more confused than he had ever been before as he watched warily as Harry ran his fingers distractedly through his hair in the semi-darkness of approaching dawn, muttering to himself something that sounded quite suspiciously like "Oh God, it's back. They're back."

Harry's pupils sharpened with concentration and it seemed that he was calling in all his reserves, straining his mind beyond belief. Ron shuddered as he never thought he could, gagging involuntarily as he looked into the disfigured face of his best friend.

He looked mad. Eyes widening, he grabbed Ron by the shoulders and shook him violently, insanity in his every expression. "What happened last night?!!!! WHAT HAPPENED?… and why can't I remember anything?" The way his voice so abruptly changed tone from that of violence and rage to that of softness and almost gentle sorrow was chilling to the bone.

Looking around to ensure that the other three Fifth Year Gryffindor boys were sound asleep in their beds, he motioned for Harry to follow him down the stairs and into the Common Room. Ron took the lead eagerly, afraid that someone might have overheard them in the dormitory, that they had woken someone who didn't want to be acknowledged, and besides, he would take whatever excuse he could to get out of looking Harry in the face.

They settled themselves down onto two cozy armchairs near the fireplace and Harry began to recount all that he could remember of the previous day. "Well, I remember everything up until the middle of Lunch," he started, expression blank with acceptance, "when Angelina came up…. And I think…. Did I start a food fight? Anyway, I remember you two dragging me off to find Alina Petranni, and then, we saw her in the Common Room, and, and, and…" Harry's horrible face contorted even more terribly as he paled and strained his mind in concentration, "Nothing… it's all dark, all I can remember is this dark sort of anger and, I think I said something to her, dunno what, and she acted all weird on us… Then we went to the library, and we had an argument about whether or not she's related to Dumbledore, we went back, and we had Defense Against the Dark Arts… I remember coming back to the Common Room really late, and there was a party… Hang on, was it about the food fight?… Yeah, 'The Great Food Feud of Ninety Five' they were calling it, then Fred and George handed us a drink… Nothing, it's all black." Quite suddenly, Harry's voice took on an incredibly skeptical, extremely disbelieving tone, "Ron, how many butterbeers did I have?"

He swallowed, wishing to God that Harry had alluded to the truth: that it had been as simple as that, but it wasn't, by God it wasn't. "None."

"What?… But then what…"

"Harry come on," Ron said, with a trace of irritation in his voice. It wasn't that he was in any way angry with Harry, he was just frustrated that his friend could be so stupid as to even _suggest_ something of that nature, because Harry would never, ever… Well, it didn't matter now, he reasoned, a slight tinge of jealousy in his voice at the fact that he had once again managed to put himself in the spotlight, even if it was a horrible spotlight to be in, even if it ended like this… Everything happened to Harry. Everything happened to famous Harry Potter. Forcing himself to think straight, forcing himself to push back the sudden stab of despair and loneliness that streamed across his spirit, he continued. "Don't be such a stupid git. You tried to give the bottle back to Fred and George, having a party just in your honor really seemed to have put you out about it." '_Though if it had been me…'_ Ron's mind started, before he stopped himself once more. "Then _she_ came in and ruined everything." He added, bitterly.

"Who?" his friend asked, although it seemed as though he already knew.

"Alina Petranni," he said with a bitter bite of spite in his voice. "She came down from the girls' staircase to see what was going on, at least that's her story… Anyway, she came down, and then you saw her and you lost it completely. You started…" he searched for the words hesitantly, not wanting to say what he inevitably had to say "twitching. You were twitching and shaking and spitting and well, it looked like you were having a seizure. Then you challenged her to a duel or something and started saying all sorts of horrible things about her and about everyone and everything. Harry, you sounded like You-Know-Who." Ron gulped, recalling how frightening his friend had become, how everyone had backed away from he and Alina, leaving a wide, terrified circle of people. He remembered ever so clearly the stench of fear that had stagnated the air.

His friend's voice shook very slightly, "What did I say?"

Ron blocked it out of his mind with of cold stab of terror. "I don't want to think about it. Trust me, it was some of the worst things I've ever heard. It was like she had enchanted you into You-Know-Who. Then, you started talking in Parseltongue, but she seemed really calm… Too calm… Then, I don't know what you said but it made her very angry and she started hissing back at you in Parseltongue, then something happened and she, she _looked_ at you." 

If they had been talking about anyone else other than Alina Petranni, this would have been a very feeble statement indeed, however, such was not the case, and they both knew instantly what that meant.

"The look she gave you was even worse than the one she gave Snape, it was the most horrible thing I've ever seen in my life, and as she's looking at you, that Dark Mark bruise comes up, and she laughs this horrible laugh, and then… I don't know what happened because there was this huge flash of light, green light, but I reckon she did something because she was gone… You started twitching again, and then you fell, and it was like you were in a trance or something, you got up, went up to bed, and you must have conked out after you got changed because you were asleep as soon as I came up after you."

It was evident from the look of pure shock and terror on his friend's face that Harry had no idea what to make of this.

Ron, on the other hand, sat, wearing a Hermione-esque expression, looking pensive. "I'm seeing a pattern here." He looked over cautiously at Harry.

"What?"

"Petranni," he said simply, his tone like that of one speaking of a escaped flesh-eating slug, _every_ time your memory blacks out and you started acting strangely, she was there, and you saw her… What does that tell you, eh? I _told_ you she was dangerous, but no, _you wouldn't listen_. I ---…"

Harry cut him off "Ron!!! Just… You're not helping," he exclaimed in a very frustrated voice.

"Whatever, but the fact remains, it's that girl, she's doing some kind of dark magic or something… And I'll tell you something else, I'd bet you anything she put the Dark Mark on your face, she was looking right at it like she meant it to be there, and then she laughed at it!"

He tried to discern the expression on his friend's face, but it was impossible. Sighing resignedly to himself, he sank back into his armchair, and watched, transfixed, as the rising sunlight poured in through the windows, streaming across the room, and as it spread over Harry's face, the scars disappeared completely, and the Dark Mark vanished, as though it had never been there in the first place…

****

~**~_~**~_~**~

Alina took great care to see that no one was watching her as she pulled her invisibility cloak over her head. Carefully stepping out of the shadows, she hurried across the grounds, feeling her dark red hair flap against her back like a flag as she ran. Her head swinging in all directions, almost paranoid that someone else might be there, she stepped into the twisted trees of the Forbidden Forrest. She had never been here before, but somehow she knew exactly where she was going, as though from a former life, or perhaps from the calling of fate.

Her strides were long and quick as she twisted off the path and wove around the thick trees, heading directly into the green-black darkness, the rising sun and color-starched sky behind her. After at least a good half-an-hour she paused quite suddenly, purely on whim. She just had a feeling… He was here.

She whistled a birdcall softly, the signal she had practiced and removed the cloak warily. Hearing the call returned from the tree above, she gave a sigh, half-exasperated, half-relieved. She heard a soft, deep voice whisper "Wingardium Leviosa," and she rose slowly into the sky until an invisible hand reached out and pulled her into the branches. One hand on her back, one grasping her arm, the invisible man lead her through the twisting branches until she was facing the trunk of the tree, and whispered "Alohomora."

The bark opened up a great hole in the trunk, the blackness seemed to swirl like a horizontal portal, and something quickly snatched her and sucked her in like a magnet or a vacuum. She was quite surprised to see however, stepping inside the tree (or being pulled in, depending on how you looked at it), that instead of the inside of tree trunk, before her stood the entrance to a cave. The man pulled off his invisibility cloak and allowed her to see his familiar face: the dark, dark deep brown hair: usually so soft, clean, shining, slick, and well-oiled, and now slightly disheveled and more than a bit unkempt; the angled face with its sharp chin and high-cheekbones; the naturally-tanned skin, worry-lines stretching around his eeyes and mouth where there had been none before, and the eyes the color of dark chocolate, usually so cold, as though a stone wall stood just behind the iris, now hinting at something warmer, almost like fire. It was the face of Demetrius Petranni.

"You sent for me, Father?"

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~**~_~**~_~**~

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A/N:Woah, that was totally (!!!!!!) unexpected. I hope iv given u something to think abt…. What the heck is going on w/Harry's scars/memory blackouts/sudden strange behavior he cant rememeber? Whats goin on w/ cimerii/petranni? What abt Alina and her father? Y did he send for her? Y is the cave inside of a tree? ….. and any other questions from other ch's. **_PLEASE NOTE:_** **my 1st day of school (sept 4) is rapidly approaching, I have an entire slew of summer assignments I havent finished yet (::gulps:: wish me luck! Please!), and this yr, junior yr in hs – or 11th grade – as it is, im going to b sooooooooo incredibly busy, iv got an intel proj, 3 AP classes, the drama plays, im assistant crew chief of house for drama, among many other things, sports , HOL, and whatnot. Thus, u prob wont c chapter 7 for a while, part of my motivation in getting this up so quickly (considering FFN just came back on). HOWEVER, I would like it very much if u stayed w/me and continued to read my story when the chapters do come up, I love u all and would b soooo happy if u remained my faithful readers/reviewers! Thanx. Also, r ne of my readers HOL students (aside from my riddle members that is)? Well, better get to the thanx section…**

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Fay: I made u feel awful?!!!! YES!!!! ::jumps for joy:: sry, that was very insensitive wasn't it? ::evil grin:: but it means I did something rite. Yes people have gone thru that sort of thing, in fact, where do u think I got the idea for these struggles? Myself. Yes I have gone thru horrible personal battles, and well, still am. Ok, so not _everything_ she deals w/I did too, but quite a lot, Alina is a pseudo-version of my darker side (ok so im not a stuck up upper class grl, etc, etc) but yes, I have gone thru a lot of painful internal struggles – havent written in "m I really a shallow monster incapable of human love/feeling?" yet have I, that's one of the more horrible ones Iv dealt w/ - and am still dealing w/and I look forward to givin her that prob. Its like therapy or something, being able to write out some of ur problems and not having to worry how people will c u and feel all awkward abt it. Yes, so I really luv Alina b/c of this ::grabs her out of the story and gives her a big hug:: - yeah I feel really bad for her too – even I havent had it this bad, I just want to crawl into the story and ,make everything alright, but I cant do that and b a responsible author! Feel free to grab Alina out of the story anytime u want! Nope, Dumbledore wasn't the person I was talking abt. U think I offer a window to her soul? O wow thanx! I could ask for no higher praise in that respect. Nope, Alina aint (hehe, aint is such a funny word) related to Harry, her possible resemblance to Lily is really pure coincidence, that's just the way I pictured her in my head. J well, actually I did put this one up on august 6, which was relatively soon, but FFN shut down rite after. Thanx, glad u enjoy it!

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Lucky Woods: I MADE U CRY??????!!!!!!!!!! YES ::hops up and down ecstatically:; wow, insensitive again, sry. J but it means im doing something rite. What part made u cry? Hmmm? Id really like to kno, and y? THANX SOOO MUCH! Glad u enjoy it.

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Ady: I actually did like the section w/Demetrius, but it was such a small section it wasn't worth mentioning, but thanx? 3D? wow. Ur right, its not just Harry, as u can c in this ch, but u also have to remember that ur ability to detest Alina has been inhibited b/c u have a window into her soul, Harry and everyone else don't, all they c is her dark, mysterious, arrogant, prejudiced exterior. Thanx (A HECK OF A LOT!!!!) glad u enjoyed it!

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Jedi Cosmos: great?! Wow, thanx, and awww… ur right, no one really does deserve to gothru that kind of pain, but I have, and still do – tho I think im getting better (I think – but it always comes back if I think abt it too much, or my ex asks me out _again_, etc). it always comes back when my father blows up again, its inevitable, he has a blow up at least a few times a month. im starting to think that he has a borderline personality… do u kno he once threatened to leave if the house wasn't cleaner? How messed up is that? Well, he did come back down later all upset and apologetic and I was hysterical and he was all apologetic, but it still hurts to think abt it, even if he didn't mean it. He had a very hard childhood, my father, the way his parents treated him, and hes still not speaking to his sister – neither r his other sisters, and the whole familys torn apart. My father is a very hard person to live with, one minute ur in the clouds and hes telling u how much he loves u and how wonderful and intelligent u r, and how the happiest moment of his life was when I was born, the next ,moment, hes screaming at u (and he can b **_extremely_** intimidating and frightening when hes angry, no mercy) abt how no one listens, how talking to us (my mother, my 9 yr old sis, and I) is like talking to a brick wall and how inconsiderate we al r and all sorts of horrible things. Im the one who fights w/him b/c im the only one with the guts to stand up to him. My sis once cracked and told her school social worker abt some of the things my father would do (one of which he hasn't done in at least a yr –all of a sudden take all my stuff in the living rm and throw it out while screaming and throwing things on the floor and being generally destructive) r classified as emotional abuse, and I usually receive the blunt of it, that's just what happens when ur the oldest, I found this out and confronted him once, he laughed in my face and told me I had no idea what emotional abuse was. The slightest thing will set him off, its like walking on a minefield, hes also sort of controlling, no one else is ever right in his mind, well he doesn't say this outright or believe me when I say it, but its true, its like hes God and hes better than the rest of us, which really angers me. Wow, I guess I really needed to get that off of my chest, sry for doing that to u, that's only one of my problems, unfortunately, it's a prob that wont go away, and I can never quite cope w/. u prob think my fathers some horrible person now, hes not, when hes not in one of his emotional rages hes a wonderful person, unfortunately – this always ends in a blow up. ::sighs:: glad u enjoyed the food fight. Alina – feel better, make friends w/the trio? Ha! As much as I would love that, trust me it aint (I luv that word) that simple, hun, as much as I wish it was, coming from someone whos been thru a very rocky emotional rd and is still on it, it's a long recovery process, a very hard rd filled w/remission and unfortunately reversion, its very hard, and Alina's human after all, shes not going to have it quite as ez. Iv got her all worked out of course, but I cant tell u anything abt that ::evil grin:: shell have it difficult, but that doesn't mean shell always b filled w/depression and angst, she will b happy at some pts, im not that mean I can promise u that.

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Jona: ::Screams and hides shaking in corner:: OKAY OKAY! THANX!

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WELL, THAT'S IT, 5 REVIEWS, AN ALL-TIME-LOW? ISNT THAT SAD?

SEE YTA NEXT TIEM, LUV YAS ALL!

Naralina


	7. "You Sent for Me, Father?"

Chapter Seven

"You Sent for Me, Father?"

"You sent for me, Father?" Her voice was like an icy gust of wind: cold and hard as a frozen-over stone wall. However surprised she must have been, considering her environment, she hid it expertly. Her face was completely devoid of emotion: cold and steely: expressionless. It was astonishing just how cruel she could make herself appear when she wanted to, indeed, she looked rather like a very powerful, ravenous business tycoon at just another business meeting, cold, dark, and superiorly accurate, raising her eyebrows as though bored by something that was clearly a waste of her precious time.

This, however, was a lie if anything at all, for inwardly, she was trembling… Her father had almost _never_ called on her before, and her last experience had not been a good one. Invisibly drawing in breath, she felt her heart jump in fright and realization as she felt the memory wash over her, and sweep all through her being, flooding her senses, so that in that instant she relived it all, it became real to her, tangible as the face of the man before her…

__

It was August 24, 1989, or, as she might have written formally, jeudi le 24 d'aôut, 1989. Evening, the late-winter sun stretched almost endlessly over the blood-red, quickly-darkening sky over the Petranni Manor on Homebush Bay, ushering in the night, foretelling of what was to come…

Nine year old Alina Petranni smoothed the skirt of her dress (a fashionable wizarding dress-robe version of the muggle evening wear) anxiously, and looked up into the mirror of her vanity, wide-eyed with innocence and anticipation. Gently running her hand over the hair one of her personal servants, Branwen, a muggle-born girl, of course, half-Irish, and half Maori (she had been bought in New Zealand) by descent, had spent the last two hours curling especially perfect for the occasion. Unsatisfied, she feared that hair so loose would be seen as disrespectful. Clapping her hands twice, high in the air, in front of her face, and far enough to the left so that the right edge of where her hands would have been, had they made contact with her visage, just barely met to brush the area of the leftmost edge of her left eye. As if she had been summoned by magic, which she had been, seven year old Branwen slipped through the door from the foyer of her mistress' quarters into Alina's dressing room, where her mistress sat, chin high in the air, expression calm and expectant, one that had been observed and practiced so much so that it was flawless. Curtsying, and keeping her head properly lowered, the girl spoke softly, in a submissive voice, thick with an accent that was strange with its mix of Irish, Maori, and New Zealand, "I am at your service, my mistress."

Alina snapped her fingers with the graceful flow of running waters that had taken many years to learn, and the girl jumped to her side almost as though someone invisible had shoved her forward. Curtsying this time so low that she had sunk to the floor, Branwen paused and listened for her cue once more, and, rising, as her mistress gave a small, gentle clap in her lap, she seemed to understand immediately what it was that she was expected to do. Sliding behind Alina, about to lay her hands on the dark russet-glow-red tendrils, she halted in slight horror (as Alina saw in her mirror) as her mistress swept out her left arm and threw out her hand, gesturing her to stop where she was, step forward, and face her. Stumbling slightly, Branwen started forward, so she stood at the pureblood's left side. 

As though she refused to speak directly to her favorite "handmaiden" (in the sense of the term of the women attendants, a personal female servant), and look her in the face, she seemed to be talking straight into her mirror, slowly and condescending, as though Branwen were a small, retarded child. "Branwen, have you washed you hands? You know the rules, there will be no laying of touch upon your mistress until your skin has been washed of its natural contaminants." Giving her hand-maiden a small, weak, superior smile, she watched through the mirror as the girl slipped and stumbled apologetically off to the bathroom to "cleanse" her hands in the magical wash, and returned quickly, fingers sparkling, to tassel her mistress' hair. Sweeping up the locks over which she had labored for many hours to curl (a long process that severely tried the patience as Alina's very long, very thick hair fell naturally and stubbornly straight, requiring magical aide to remain in any other form), she drew them into an elegant bun near the crown of the head, one so that the curls spilled somewhat down and over the top to brush the shoulders. Her fingers working expertly, she completed the look to perfection, stood aside, and, when dismissed, gave a weak smile, and did not hurry to leave.

What a sight that must have been, to those of us so unaccustomed to such things, to see such a small, skinny, soft-and-round-faced child of nine, face wide with youthful innocence and wonder, sitting so stiffly and rigidly straight, done up as though to attend a wedding, with no smile upon the face, giving orders as though she were a queen. Rather disgusting I'd imagine, but those are just my thoughts, and I'm just the narrator, what would I know? For on the Petranni manor, which in its property holdings was large enough to constitute a small country, nonetheless all of magical Australia, this was commonplace, everyday life: nothing extraordinary, quite to the contrary, anything else would have been considered taboo.

It had been a particularly dark and cold winter, which was bizarrely unnatural in Australia, and so Alina's naturally tan skin was somewhat paled, and if one gazed upon her countenance from afar, one would note rather strangely, that her complexion seemed a pale white-golden olive, with tan going all around each of the outlines in her face. In the winter, Alina's dark red hair darkened somewhat to a bronzed, coppery auburn, and her yellow-green cat-colored eyes seemed to glow more brightly than ever, exuding an aura that was unearthly. Indeed, on that day, Alina did seem a little extra-terrestrial, a little angelic, a little ghostly… She was dressed in garments that any of us, raised in a setting that, if not middle-class (the self-proclaimed status of our humble narrator,) could not possibly have compared or matched, in the wildest dreams of any muggle human being ever in the history of man, with the sort of wealth the aristocratic class of the old wizarding familes possessed, would equate (purely in view of its everyday wardrobe) with aristocratic, Victorian Britain. Her later-angled face was then more rounded, with her high Slavic cheekbones softer, and seemingly lower and more reminiscent of Northern European phenotypes, lavender crescents sweeping beneath her lower lids, and tracing all along herself was her characteristic, haunted look, which told of one carrying a burden beyond her years. She was wearing a deep, vivid, richly colored, forest green designer (what else?) gown, unusual even for magical Australian wizarding society, but beautiful. The dress was long-sleeved, but off-the-shoulders (falling across one arm, across the chest, and across the other arm), tightly clinging to the waist, and falling, flowing out like the liquid fibers upon which dreams are weaved, from the hips (though, as can be expected Alina had virtually no waist and no hips at such an age) to the toes. The material, somehow magically enhanced, actually had an angelic glow in the aura surrounding it, and sparkled like diamonds. With real gold-spun thread was the dress trimmed, and the material was the same material as the invisibility cloak, and as the pensieve, like sunlight (dyed deep green) made liquid, spun into material attire that only the wealthiest might have ever laid eyes on. The pensieve fabric itself actually had the depth of the iris of the human eye, was further encrusted with crushed pearls, diamonds, and emeralds, and powder of roses and silver. Incidentally, the dress she was wearing that August 24, 1989 was a smaller, identical copy to the one she was wearing this morning. Coincidence? Maybe… But most likely, at least on some level, purely intentional._ She draped her cape over her shoulders. It was the same length and color as the dress, but made out of a thick (appropriate as it was winter, and the pensieve-material did not provide much warmth) velvet, and trimmed with a rich brown fur, matching her Cinderella-slipper-shoes and silken green gloves. It gathered at the brooch at her shoulder, which carried the symbol, the crest of her mother's family, the Ambrose clan, which featured a medieval portrayal of a dragon, embossed in pure silver, the one maternal heirloom she carried. Allowing her fingers to run briefly and delicately (as though it might shatter at her touch) over the brooch, she felt a tear run down her cheek, because, most probably, the sensation of the silver against her flesh, the silver that had been embraced so many times by the mother she never knew (whose death had left her at the mercy of a detached, emotionless father) and all those who came before her, had triggered the release of the pure, raw emotion that had been building up inside of her ever since she had received the call. The brooch itself was sacred to her, and if she had been an idolator, it would have been her god: it was the one tangible object in her world that was as out of place in that house as she, and because it had been her mother's, who, to her, was as mysterious as moonlight. It offered to her an escape, a dream. _

Letting the teardrop run all the way down her visage until, rolling off her chin and lingering only for a moment, it fell with a rather unremarkable splash to the marble floor, she hurried quietly away. Stepping out of the dressing room into the transport hall of her quarters, she clapped her hands four times, and her sixteen handmaidens appeared to accompany her. For Alina, in her mansion, the size and grandeur of which transcends both the words and imaginations of muggles and ordinary wizards, had her own personal living quarters complete with bed chamber, bath, dressing room, dinning room, library, office, parlor, foyer, transport hall, and servants' (handmaidens') quarters, which was convenient for a family that was family in name and title only. Her living quarters consisting of a size of over a quarter mile in both length and width (NOT collectively - which makes me, thinking it incredibly ridiculous, as more a statement of wealth, power, and prestige, and an excuse to isolate oneself from one's family, than anything else, wonder what anyone could possibly do with such space), did not even constitute one eighth of a wing (or one-one-thousandth of the entire property for that matter) in the Petranni mansion, but such is made a possibility when one has all the magical aids to transportation, and when one has a good sense of direction, so as not to lose one's way. Indeed, getting lost in the manor was a very real problem for the rich and famous of magical Australia, it was not uncommon for a guest to come to stay, lose his way, and not be found for many years hence. However, this had never occurred on the Petranni manor, and not just because although it was the largest and grandest of manors perhaps in the wizarding world, it had all the technological magical installments of the day and enough servants to patrol every inch of it, but because the Petranni family, although the most wealthy and powerful of all Australian wizarding society, were very unpopular, and rarely received any guests at all.

Accompanying their mistress to the transport hall, which brought them, on Alina's vocal command, instantly to the grand staircase before the grand parlor, near, of course, the grand entrance way to the Petranni mansion, her sixteen hand-maidens formed a protective envelope around her sides and a train behind her, Branwen at her right hand, and descended to the main floor. There, amidst the breathtaking beauty of the scene of sunset to which the grand parlor walls were set, they were met by a page, fifty-two year old Myrddin (pronounced "Murr-thin") who was bedecked in the finest satins that money could appropriately buy for a muggle born. His graying black hair, slightly crinkled olive skin, desolate honey colored eyes, and injured leg (which had been wounded in an anti-muggle-born raid thirty years earlier) spoke of a shattered soul and a spirit that had been crushed long before it was even brought into the world of living men. He limped ahead of them to announce the arrival of Mistress Alina to receive her father's call, and the irony of a limping page did not strike the young girl at all. If there was one thing she knew about her father, it was that he was very fond of his servants, 'more so fond of his muggle-borns than he is of his own daughter' she lamented inwardly, and he would never be so cruel as to sell one so physically useless as Myrddin. He was keeping the old, injured, sickly man as a pity-favor, and besides, the person who was most often come to receive a call, or to make one, was she, and why should Demetrius Petranni strive to do anything but hinder the little girl he hated?

When she finally met with her father, doing as he ordered, she dismissed her handmaidens to go about their daily duties in her quarters, and leave the masters of the house be. When the final sashaying skirt was at last out of earshot, words ricocheted their way out into the open, wary of hunters as deer come to graze in a clearing, "Bonsoir mon père, puis je vous aider?"(Good evening Father, how may I help you?")_ Alina spoke in French not because it was her native language, but because, much like it had been in the muggle world centuries earlier, it was the language of polite, reformed, aristocratic wizarding society. _

Of course, 'twas perfectly acceptable for her father to speak to her in English, as he was, being her elder and her father, considered her superior, but it was a mark of his treatment of his daughter that he spoke to her as such. The native language was only spoken either between two intimate equals (such as family or lovers), or from superior to inferior (as from master to servant), it was a sign of his superiority over her that he could respectably speak to her in such a way, but it was also an insult to her intelligence, for it was assumed that if you speak in a non-intimate manner with someone in their native language, that the language of reformed society is not only too good for them to speak and hear, but beyond their intelligence, beyond their powers of mind and comprehension to grasp. You can be certain that Demetrius Petranni did not speak to his daughter in a warm or intimate manner… ever. "You have the speech of a servant," he sneered at her, raining down his disgust in his eyes, hatred thick in his sophisticated voice, so much so that it seemed to ooze out of his mouth.with the slither of a snake. "No doubt you possess the intelligence, the capability of such a level of existence, in fact I doubt you fully grasp what it is I am saying to you at this very moment."

Her countenance remained stiff in its expression, it had not changed, although her eyes called her bluff, she was not indifferent to this, for out of the window to her soul poured the look of one who had just been crushed, who had received a knife in the heart from someone from whom they longed to receive a loving embrace. "Je suis désolée mon père, j'essaye avec tous que j'ai, tout du temps, de vous plaire, mais je néglige d'accomplire cette tâche simple, parce que je suis indigne. Vous êtes miséricordieux immesurablement, et je suis reconnaissant immesurablement pour votre bienveillance." ("I am sorry Father, I try with all that I have, all the time, to please you, but I fail to accomplish this simple task, because I am unworthy. You are immeasurably merciful, and I am immeasurably grateful for your kindness.")_ Her voice trembled a bit in her apology, something that, combined with the hurt in her eyes, spoke volumes about how she truly felt. A little hurt. A little shocked. A little disappointed. And with every moment she was growing more cynical, with every moment she began to belittle herself, as though she were worth nothing, and with every moment she concluded more strongly… What more could she expect?_

"Yes, but 'all that you have' is not satisfactory, and you display your condition of simplicity and inadequacy in every thing you do, in every gesture, in every move you make, in every word that slips from between your lips… You even have the appearance_ of a simple muggle-born. It surprises me _immeasurably_ that you could be of my blood, of your mother's, that you could be of such pure and high lineage, and it eludes me as to how such a beast could be any daughter of mine. Why, had I not known that your mother was a faithful and respectable woman, true to her blood, her class, and her family, I'd have thought that you were the child of the lowest of all muggle-born vermin. You are my greatest shame, _Alina,_ and I'd be a better, happier man if you had never been born." He spoke in such a calm, yet all the while menacing, voice that it was unnerving, and yet such a calm and even tone, however laced with venom that it was, made his commentary all the more damaging._

She struggled now. She fought with all she had… and she lost. A tear rolled down her cheek. It was a tear of sorrow, of betrayal, of depression, of rage, of rebellion, of anguish, of resentment, of bitterness; but most of all, of the deepest hurt imaginable in this world.

Demetrius had seen her tear, and with his lips he formed a twisted, maniacal smile, it was a condemnation, an omen of doom, and the ravenously evil aura exuded by his very eyes sealed it with the kiss of death. "Is that a tear_ I see? Oh yes, you're crying, how very sad indeed," he mocked. At this, Alina grew desperate, she struggled as does a dying soldier on the enemy battlefield to cling to life, just to hold herself back, to keep more tears from coming, and for all the strength that she put into this effort, she failed with as great strength as she had used to succeed, and the tears came pouring out ever that much stronger. She felt her control slipping slowly away, ever just an inch and a half out of her grasp, and the further she reached to recapture it, the faster and further away it slipped from her hand. Her father laughed mirthlessly, his deep reptilian sound filled with malice. "And yet again you have failed. My, I am _so_ surprised… Why were you? What was it that you expected? Did you expect a loving embrace? Did you expect me to behave like a _common_ muggle father? Had you expected me to hold you and hug you and kiss you and tell you that it would be alright, that I'd make everything better, that I'd protect you, that I'd 'always be there for you?' That I _love_ you?" He sneered triumphantly, and anyone with an intelligence quotient above two would be able to see with a simple glance at Alina that Demetrius had "hit a nerve" as they say, that he had struck emotional gold, that in those final four words he had crippled her._

She appeared as though she might fall, and never get up again. She appeared as though someone had just stolen the legs right out from under her, as though everything she had had been cut away from her with a knife: severed, and with that same knife had her heart been cut out and been gored to a final, bloody death. She had lost control completely by this time, and as she wept violently, would she not have been so broken she would have been amazed at the savage, animalistic sounds escaping her vocal cords. Like a wounded bear she screamed in anguish, and a whimper escaped her mouth. Her breathing ragged and her voice strained, she stuttered on seemingly syllables, completely unaware of what it was she was saying. Shattered, she stumbled backwards, lost her balance, and fell crashing down in a very ungraceful manner to the hard, cold stone floor. The violence of the force alone allowed bruises to blossom like small flowers across her arms, legs, and back, and ripe red blood to flow from a gashing cut on her left cheek. Her vision blurred with a perpetual river of tears, she looked up helplessly to see her father rise from his seating place, and advance dangerously towards her.

"I can see that must be it," he said in a quiet, dangerous, slithering voice, laughing maliciously once more, "and I am so very sorry to disappoint you Alina_, you simple, simple girl… I do not _love_ you. I have never loved you. I never will love you. Why? Because you are vermin, the very pain of my existence… You are corroded, you are stupid, you are foolish, you are ugly, you are savage, you are my own worst nightmare… You haunt me, you worthless girl! You are a beast. You make my days miserable, my nights sleepless with disgust, my life unlivable. I am ashamed to call you my own! I pray each night to the almighty God that he will remove you from this plane of existence because every day you live does further the knife in me! I wish with all my heart that you had never been born, and if your mother was with us, so would she." Alina's face crumpled in a way that Demetrius Petranni would probably never again witness in his entire life, and he raised his left arm as a black-orange aura enveloped it, and a visible surge of power flared upward from the upturned palm of his hand as his clenched fingers extended fully. Alarmed for her safety and knowing by the pain in her leg that she would not be able to escape in time, she collapsed fully on the floor, raising her arms to shield her face from the products of her father's wrath. She had seen him summon power through his dominant hand (his left) and use it without a wand just as powerfully as though he had had one, and she had noticed how he would never use this ability in the presence of a guest, but she had never known that it was considered as one of the most deeply potent, dangerous, and illegal forms of the dark arts. Her small collapsed body forming a rigid cage around her face, a shield, she prepared herself for pain. Demetrius lowered his empowered arm before raising it again, and he exercised this power. The glass chandelier was brought down by the force which he commanded through his left hand, shattering on top of his child, and with this power allowed the glass to rise, skate across the stone, and make a few deep cuts through Alina's flesh. With every further sentence he spoke, another object came pelting at her, crashing nearby from all the way across the room. "What? You thought your mother loved you? You thought that if she'd lived she'd be showering you with affection, making your life better every day? That she would have loved you? Did you think she was _watching, guiding, and protecting you _from up in _heaven_?" Crying out with wild abandon, screaming and moaning and whimpering as though her very life depended on it, her pain was tangible, it was audible, it was visible, so intensely did it attack the senses that one could taste it, that with the inhalation of breath, the bitterness of it would infiltrate the entire blood stream, would sink into the pit of one's heart and never quite leave, scarring forever the organ in which it resided._

"Your mother never loved you. No one will ever love you."

With exhausting force he motioned his arm as though he'd punched her, however far away she was, and with that her body rose and started to float in his direction, it gathered speed, he allowed it to pass him by just a little bit, and with painful force did it slam into the wall just behind him. Her head snapping and following suit, the sickening whiplash motion of the neck drove the head to hit the wall with excruciating force. Pinned against the wall by a magical force, Alina looked into the face of her father, a demonic, inhuman glare pushing out of his eyes with such force that it alone could have held her there. The evil in his eyes subsided a bit, and for the first time emotion rose in his voice. "Have you ever wondered why your mother isn't here after all?… It's because of you. IT'S YOUR FAULT!!! YOU KILLED HER!!! YOU ARE THE REASON SHE IS DEAD AND NEVER COMING BACK!!! IT'S YOUR FAULT! It's your fault. You killed your own mother. If it weren't for you, she'd still be alive. It's your fault."

His eyes shining, humanity returning to them, he released his power, and so released his hold on her. She fell softly to the floor, and he swept out of the room, staggering and fighting to maintain the energy to simply walk, in an exhausted voice, he commanded a nameless servant to clean up the mess. After all, we wouldn't want Mistress Alina to hurt herself, would we? Gasping for breath and with rivers flowing from her eyes and nose, the bedraggled and beaten Mistress Alina crawled into the transport hall, somehow managing to remain silent. Brought to her quarters by the magical mechanism, she got up and, despite the shattering pain, ran raggedly to her bedchamber. Never before had she felt pain so acute. Never before had she known the world could be so cruel. It was as though she had made the final descent into hell. What had she done to deserve this? Why? For the first time in her very young life, an unlikely thought for a nine-year-old crept into her head… The thought of just how liberating would be the cut of a knife across her throat. The blood spilling out. The catharsis of pain. And finally…. An end to it all… A freedom, a place where nothing would hold her, a place to rest. World-weary and with a greater capacity to fee a pain beyond her years, the most depressing rage of pain yet in her young life, she collapsed on her four poster bed… And wept passionately, fiercely, violently: truly, madly, deeply.

Her eyes shining, gleaming with emotion, she was jerked violently and painfully from her reverie by the returned gaze of the man before her. 

"Follow me," the words slipped softly out of his mouth, almost as though they were floating on a breeze. Pausing only for a moment as they held one another's gaze, both nervous, both sorrowful, both strong, he turned, and they set off deeper into the cave. Deep in the heart of the darkness, the light of the world was theirs.


	8. As Further in we Fall

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Disclaimer for "Chapter Eight: As Further in we Fall": Yes, that disclaimer before chapter one was a disclaimer for the entire story, but this, like the one in chapter four, is special, because it has a more specific element to disclaim… I do not own the crystal cave. That belongs to Mary Stewart, sort of, I borrowed it from her loverly book The Crystal Cave which I read three years ago and adored, and of course I added my own things and insights into it… :: grins at Jess (S.) – hon, make of it what you will, I'd like to see what you come up w/ ::

Chapter Eight

As Further in we Fall

Demetrius Petranni felt a shock pierce the numb sort of anticipation he had previously been feeling, it was a bit like lightning flashing across a stormy, yet silent and rainless, sky… His "daughter" had spoken to him in English, in her native language… And not in any warm or intimate manner either. He didn't know quite what to make of it. He knew that had they been in Australia, this sort of blatant insubordination could have merited her three days in the stocks in the square. But they were not in Australia any longer, and even if they had been, he would not have put her to it… Surprising as that may seem to those of you to whom I am telling this tale.

Not wanting to contemplate it any further, he pushed the thought, which he found strangely disturbing, for a reason he could not quite fathom, out of his mind. Attempting to keep his mind blank, and for good reason, he pushed further into the cave. Holding with him a lit muggle torch, he knew his attempts were all in vain. Although he managed to contain a roughly thoughtless state of mind, he could not stop the raw emotion from meandering its way through his conscience. 

After what seemed like only moments, he led her into an area deep in the cave that seemed so dark that had Demetrius not brought with him the torch, he had an eerie feeling that perhaps the two might be lost forever in the pitch black of the place… So dark and vacant and endless that it seemed reminiscent of a vacuum way out in a very secluded part of the universe. He knew the legacy of the cave, and for a moment he feared that perhaps they _had_ in fact ventured into a vacuum, way out in a very secluded part of the universe… For what had to have been hours the two meandered through the seemingly-endless cave, in the pitch black, the darkness enveloping them, and claiming them to be its own. Step after step they ventured forward, and he could not help but wonder why it was that she trusted him enough to follow, after all the things he had done to her, he certainly wouldn't have were he in her shoes… A temporary lapse of judgement? Perhaps, but he doubted this, knowing his daughter's capabilities and capacity, he found such a thing difficult to imagine, and determined that she was perhaps armed… Perhaps she had an agenda of her own… He shivered at the thought. After all, he was taking her to a place that was perfect, in its secluded and mystical envelope in the universe, for the execution of any diabolical or illegal activity… Ideal for the "perfect crime." It occurred to him that perhaps he was setting himself up for a death trap… And he discovered that in such a case he really did not care, he was not afraid of death, to the contrary, he would have prayed for death had not he felt unworthy of God, it was the plight of those who survived him that chilled him to the core.

In silence he continued, aware of his mission… Of what he had to do, not sure of whether or not he wanted to be successful, but feeling as though he had no choice in the matter. Of course, this was incorrect to say the least, one _always_ has a choice, whether or not one is aware of it… Even at gunpoint one has a choice of what action one will take, one can chose to be insubordinate to the gunman's wishes and risk a bullet to the head… But perhaps the only way that Demetrius Petranni could go on existing, the only way he could live with himself day in and day out, was by convincing himself that he had no choice, not now and not ever in his past… It is an unfortunate way to exist, and too many people, hearts and minds, are caged in this sort of self-built prison. Indeed, he knew exactly what he felt he _had_ to do, but whether or not he _wanted_ to do it was another story entirely, a story to which he himself did not know the words nor the plot.

Pushing through the darkness as though on some sort of twisted crusade, he finally found what he was looking for, the crystal mirror… The crystal mirror that made legendary this crystal cave… He looked into it, that mystical magic which changed the world countless times over, and yet went almost entirely unknown to most in the world. His late wife had brought him here several times in their youth, and it was in this place that his daughter was conceived… But his daughter did not know that, and he was not about to share that thought with her. He wanted to touch the crystal, but he knew that it was not to him to do so… And he could just see Aurora standing there before him, nineteen years old all over again… Young and naïve, sweet and dreaming, innocent and captivating and warm and loving… And all of those things that the old find in their romanticized memory of youth. She was like a young flower, stars in her blue eyes, a tint of cherry-fire in her long, long golden hair, white-gold her ivory-fair skin, her beautiful heart pouring out of her, so that she was entrenched in an angelic sort of beauty, such a beauty that he could not touch her, that his breath stilled to gaze upon her, and that his heart broke at the very sight. He was completely overpowered by his love for her. Her voice, like a heavenly song, so young and so divine, he heard as though it had been yesterday when she told him the secrets of this place… How many times the fate of the universe had been written here, it stole the words from the mouth, it was almost as though God acted through this very envelope in time and space… But there was more to the crystal cave than even they, Aurora and Demetrius, two seemingly inconsequential people who happened to be young and in love, knew, and little did they know that in what transpired between them there, they were repeating history to so exact an yet unique and personal a level that even Ghandi, even Dumbledore, even the greatest of all the timeless sages, could not have contemplated it nor grasped it fully. 

In reverence of the place and all it represented and all it had meant, meant through the years past, meant now, and meant for all the years to come, he felt that he could not use magic here. This place was timeless. So much had happened here: he could hear the stories emanating from the walls, whispering to him, in a flash he could see all the people who had born their hearts here, he could taste and feel their tragedies, their travails, their happiness, their star-crossed fate, their love… Their life. It was exactly as it was when first he came, but it was different, because then he had been young, he had had his love by his side, his heart had been warmed, he had had memories and adventures to fill this place up with, in short, he had had real hope, real life; but now, now he was old, this place was in his past and not his future, and by the feeling in his bones he knew, somehow, that this was the last time he would ever see this place, and it seemed to him, his memories so real and all at once distant that it was painful, like a once-great city deserted and gone to ruin… He stood there, staring out, in the dark, dank cold which stank of mystery and memory, remembering the nights when it had been so warm and ardent and lit by heaven's light, remembering that his heart was truly here… And remembering that that was why he was here in the first place.

He turned to Alina, and realized she was already standing beside him, just as Aurora had stood… And although Alina had his darker, saphartic skin, his height, his shape of face, his shape of eye, his name… Although her hair was darker, although she was only genetically half of Aurora, he could see his wife in his daughter. He saw in Alina the same overpowering beauty, although, a different sort of overpowering beauty… Which was to be expected, as his feelings for Alina were paternal (at least in a rough, primitive sense), not romantic as they had been for Aurora. He saw her standing there in her mother's place, and he saw that she had the same stars there in those differently colored yellow-green irises. He heard the same young, divine (though differently accented), heavenly-song-of-a-voice as she spoke. He saw Aurora standing there in a different skin. He saw Aurora looking out through his daughter's eyes, and it took his breath away, like a "sucker-punch" to the stomach, stilling the breath within him. It was a sign, an omen of some sort, he was certain of it, though as to what that omen was and what it meant he had no idea.

It was then, in an uncharacteristically trembling voice, that he spoke to her once more. "Auror-… Alina, you must listen to me very carefully," she looked skeptical and cynical, a trait, no doubt, she had inherited from her father, "the instructions I am about to give you are very important, it is imperative that they be followed exactly…"

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Alina Petranni was not quite sure where exactly she was, but she knew its meaning, somehow, and was, oddly enough, not alarmed in the slightest… It was as though she knew, by some power which she could not name, that she could not be harmed here… No, it was her words, her father's words, of which she had to be wary, and she knew that. Never having been to this crystal cave, and not knowing the place, nor its legacy, she had not known how correct she had been, and had she known such things, she would have been able to make near perfect sense out of the whole lot of it, and form coherent and productive thought out of what was then simply a confused muddle in her head… Unfortunately, and painfully frustratingly to I, who knows all and sees all, all powerful, she did not have this knowledge which could have changed so very much.

The ritual her father had had her perform was alien to her, but she knew enough to know that it was an ancient, deep, magic, although a magic so deep that it was not magic at all… In other circumstances she would have worried that perhaps it was magic of a non-benevolent sort, but again, she somehow felt that no dark magic could be performed here, that this place had a sort of power that went beyond all human comprehension, that protected it, and all that were associated with it, and that none but good could be done here. Again, she was correct, though she had no way of knowing it. Only I, and those who had come before but were now gone from this world, could have known such things.

The chamber in which she stood was another part of the cave, though she wasn't entirely sure how it was that this ritual had transported both she and her father to such a place. It was furnished in a way that was almost hypnotizing… It transcends all words, the way the truly ancient and mystical heirlooms, no doubt some thousands of years old, decorated the cave walls. I could describe it for you, but I think that here it is most important for you to form the picture in your own mind… A picture that is completely of your own making, influenced only by your heart, and belongs only to you… For it is a place that belongs to each person that meets with it, it runs in one's blood and beats in one's heart, and lives inside of each of us forever, and in turn we leave a part of ourselves here forever… So close your eyes for a moment, and imagine, see it, feel it, hear it, taste it, breathe it, live it, and put your heart into it.

Curious, Alina, feeling emboldened in such a protected, warm atmosphere that exuded of love, questioned her father immediately. "Do you live here?"

He laughed, it was a strange laugh, not malicious or cynical at all, it was a real, human laugh, one of a sort she had never heard from Demetrius Petranni, one that most likely he was certain he would never again produce, a real human laugh of something that sounded a lot like happiness. "No. I do not live in this chamber, it is not a place for the likes of me, I do not belong here, it was not meant for me, nor for my kind. I do, however, live in this cave, yes, but no, never in this chamber… In fact I am quite certain that I could not have set foot into this place without you."

Her father had inadvertently suggested that she was useful and of value in that statement, that was certainly a first. Understandably, she was a bit taken aback. Normally, she would now be searching for hidden motives, her mind working quickly to be analyzing what might be going through his head, but something about the atmosphere, the place, it lulled her out of suspicion. Certainly, she realized, there was a very powerful, very deep, very ancient magic here, in this chamber, in this crystal cave, and it was affecting her… The question now was, was it affecting him? For the first time in her young life, she felt secure, warm, welcome, by whom she did not know, but whoever they were they were here, in some form or another. "Why?"

"I'm afraid, I'm sorry to say, that is, that I can not yet disclose that information to you… It is far too dangerous."

"Dangerous? Dangerous for whom?"

"For you, of course."

She was genuinely confused now… Why was Demetrius Petranni suddenly being so kind, so protective, so benevolent? It was drastically out of character, at least, it was so drastically out of character as it pertained to Alina's experiences with the man. "For me?... Exactly since when have you been concerned about my safety and my well-being?"

She herself was being uncharacteristically straightforward. Perhaps she was feeling rebellious and emboldened and ready to finally let it out and fight for it… Perhaps she was tired of being crafty, of biding her time, of being strangely subordinate in that very way… Perhaps she was just tired… Perhaps she was just a human being, a daughter in search of her father, hoping to find him there in that chamber in that crystal cave… Perhaps it was something more… Or perhaps it was all of those things.

Demetrius Petranni looked strange, there was a paradox that could be seen in his face, he was so shocked, and yet, it was as though he knew it was coming… He looked both hurt and happy… Certain and uncertain… He looked like a real human being. A real human being as she had never seen him before, as he had never thought he could be again… And he responded like a human being, losing his usual suave tone and becoming awkward, for the first time that ever she had witnessed… "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." His voice trembled uncertainly, and if she could not see him sitting there, she would have thought by his now husky, frightened, emotion-filled voice that he was crying.

Inwardly, she could not describe the emotion pulsating through her, in her heart, some of it was relief and happiness, happiness that at last she heard those words coming from his mouth, which had been so longing to hear… But it seemed so impossible; yes, she had dreamed of it countless times, and no matter the setting it always played out along similar lines, he said he was sorry and broke down crying, gave her reasons that he confessed to be "no excuse," and listened to her as she recounted her sorrows, and begged her forgiveness, and at last she could cry again, and she would cry on his shoulder, and he would tell her that he loved her, and that he'd make it all alright, that he would always be there for her, and eventually she would tell him that she loved him, and they would really be a family… It was a fantasy, she had always known it, and she had known it to be simply a dream, and although she longed for it with a pain all the same, she had "known" that it would never happen, only in her fantasies… And here it was, and, in the intoxicating atmosphere of the chamber, of the cave, he seemed sincere, and it was really happening… Although, it was not quite so elegant or dramatic as 'twas in her dreams, here, he had only just begun, and yet he had been very awkward and uncomfortable about it, clumsy almost: he had simply blurted it out, not really glamorous, not glamorous at all. And yet, to all that she wanted to be able to say here, all those infinite strings of feelings she herein wanted to spin into words, into coherent elegance, she responded with the same clumsiness. Indeed, she was dramatically disappointed in herself as all that came out of her mouth, the only word she seemed capable of producing, which wasn't even a word, was "Oh?"

"I'm sorry for everything I've done to you, I'm sorry for the situation I've put you in, the life that I've given to you… I'm sorry for everything. Most of all, however, I'm sorry for what I'm about to do to you." His voice cracked, and the emotion in his tone was almost tangible, it was so powerful.

"Is that it?" Deep within, she felt a growing sense of rebellion and all at once a growing need for him, for a father she never had. Icily, she continued, harsh and cold to the core of her voice "Is that all you've got to say to me? 'I'm sorry?' Well, _I'm sorry_, but 'I'm sorry' just isn't enough… Are you foolish enough to think, to believe that that's all you've got to do… That all you have to do is say that and all of a sudden it will be alright?! Who do you think you are?! God?! How foolish and simple do you believe me to be?! Did you really think that all you had to do was say that you're sorry and all of a sudden all those years of pain would suddenly disappear and I could _love_ you? Well, I'm sorry, it's going to take more than that… More than you can give maybe?! BECAUSE OF WHAT YOU HAVE DONE, BECAUSE OF THE WAY YOU HAVE RUINED ME, I NEVER CAN AND NEVER WILL FORGIVE YOU, AND NEVER CAN AND NEVER WILL BE ABLE TO LOVE YOU LIKE I MIGHT HAVE HAD I HAD A REAL FATHER!!! You do realize that, don't you?"

Suddenly she was standing, anger and stress and hurt and humanity all visible in her face, crumpled like it had been on that fateful August 24, 1989, her limbs stiff, her fists clenched, a sort of power emanating from her, her soul rising out and above her, forcing him to his spiritual knees. "DON'T YOU?!!!" And just as suddenly, she realized something… He _was_ crying. She had never seen him cry before. She knew that being a human being in the physical sense, that he must cry, but she had never known him to do it, and so it had seemed impossible to her. So the man had feelings after all. So the man was a _man_ after all. She had not cried since August 24, 1989, it had been the last time for her, and she actually felt a little guilty as she saw him break down completely… Rivers were streaming rather disgracefully from his eyes and nose, and he was quivering as though in severe cold. His voice was hoarse and husky. He sounded like a wounded bear, and he whimpered now and then. He sobbed in a deep and choking manner, gasping as does a dying soldier on an enemy battlefield, clinging to life. And when he looked up at his daughter, her father had the look of a lost child… Alone and afraid and yet wracked by the guilt and pain of an old man. As though such pain was a disease that was airborne, she began to feel it, feel it seep into her soul and drown her heart… Alina Petranni had a heart after all. She did not know quite what to do. She felt a bit guilty and a bit embarrassed and a bit afraid, someone older and bigger and stronger than she, was crying, had completely broken down and lost it all… The humanity in her cried out to him, the two were, in that sense, their shared pain that the world would never know, made them closer, in that manner, in that brief space and time, in that chamber in that crystal cave…

He held out his hands to her as he collapsed and fell to the floor in a raggedly familiar ungraceful manner. And she held him there, a bit of an odd twist of fate, held him there, rocking him and giving silent comfort there just by the benevolence of her presence… And he told her things as he sat there crying. He did not tell her everything… But he told her many things… Things that a man has trouble enough admitting to himself, let alone share with the world, and so, it is only fair that I, knowing of these things, do not betray his trust… For that reason I cannot tell you exactly what these things are… but I think you can imagine some of them. 

I think… I think…I feel that it is only fair to him, and to his daughter, and to all those who have loved and lost, that I keep my silence, and respect his trust and his heart.

****

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Many, many hours later, at the stroke of midnight, the Dark Lord received a message from his servant Cimerii. It said simply this…

_My Lord,_

She is broken. We have her at last.

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And now, oh ye who hear my tale, it is time to ask yourselves a question… Who do you trust?… And do you trust even me? Do you know who I am? 

Take my hand, as further in we fall…

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Post A/N:And now, ye listeners, ::giggles:: it is time for my author's note. I hope you enjoyed this chapter, I tetered off at the end, but I enjoyed writing it. :) Here's a question for you… Do you know who is narrating this chapter? This same narrator may not be the specific narrator for every chapter, but 'twill be, or is rather, the narrator for the overall story. I won't be able to tell you if you're correct, unfortunately, it's too early to do that, but I will have fun seeing what you can guess. I wouldn't be surprised if some of you get it right off the bat… Anywho, we will return to other perspectives and foci in the next chapter. These chapters have been special Petranni-only chapters, which makes them special in my mind, but the next chapter will be, in such a sense, a "return to normalcy." PLEASE TAKE NOTE: In this chapter and here on afterward, unless already specified, when I say "Australia," I am referring to the MAGICAL Australia within the STORY, I'm getting really sick and tired of having to say magical, or wizarding, in front of it, so please, that's what I'm referring to, it is no commentary on the real Australia, so please, just trust me on that and try not to take offense. Same goes for New Zealand in that case. Oooo, there is so much I'd like to say here, but for fear of betraying myself, I will keep my mouth shut. I'm sorry, no reviewer thanks this time, it's 2 AM and I'm actually feeling a bit nauseous, next chapter, I promise.


	9. Who Do You Trust?

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Author's Note:Well, well, well, I'm going to Washington D.C., I'll be gone just on April 4, 5, and 6, so, wonderful person that I am, and it being spring break, I'm taking the time I should be using on my work, to get this chapter up before I go. All bow before me! J/K Obviously… Well, about the bowing part. But you could, if you wanted to, ;), I wouldn't mind the power trip. Hehehe. If you don't remember anything about Harry's condition, I'd suggest going back to Chapter Six: The Cimeriian Mysteries, to refresh your memory… I know I plan on it. In fact, I am going to ASK you to go back to Chapter Six, because your memory of the events that happened in that chapter is EXTREMELY VITAL. ;) Well, I'd better start typing this chapter – AKA: (speaking in the future) I'll let you get reading… Enjoy!

Chapter Nine

Who Do You Trust?

__

And now, oh ye who hear my tale, it is time to ask yourselves a question… Who do you trust?

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~**~_~**~_~**~

"_Who do you trust?"_ The words slithered like a serpent into Harry Potter's ear. The voice was enshrouded in mystery from every angle, each syllable darker than its predecessor. It was as though venom had slipped into his head. He half expected to hear further "Beware the Ides of March!"

"What did you just say?" he said aloud, aimlessly, to no one in particular, casting his voice around the room in the hopes of finding a pleasant response.

"What? I didn't say anything… I haven't said anything in the past half-an-hour." Ron sounded suspicious: surprise, surprise. "Are you alright, Harry?" he asked uncertainly…. The expression on his face however, spoke with a voice of certainty all its own, with a different message, this being: _"You've finally lost it haven't you, ol' pal?"_ Even Ron, however, had the sense to keep from saying this, instead, he chose to remain diplomatic, or so it seemed, and his mouth squiggled in determination whilst his complexion attained a shade reminiscent of seasickness: a perfect mixture of purple and green. 

It was an hour past dawn, 6:45 AM, as the two best friends sat in stupified silence… Time seemed to stand completely and utterly still, that is, until it was shattered by a very familiar strangled cry… Hermione was standing there, in the entrance to the Common Room, having just emerged, quite obviously, from the Girls' Dormitories. Harry was not so sure he had ever seen her in such a state… Her naturally olive-skinned face had gone paper-white, with little patches of brown reminiscent of mud and mulch contaminating her complexion. Beneath her eyes sat unbelievably, violently vivid, loudly bright violet half-moons, puffing out and sagging as though they had been swollen and then popped like a balloon. Her chocolate-brown eyes seemed desolate, empty, as though nothing sat behind them. Her mouth was like a thin white-purple line on a distant face. Her dark brown hair was scraggly, hanging limply in bedraggled corkscrew curls which seemed to fly out in every direction. A borrowed white nightgown was too big for her and one of the shoulders had fallen off, hanging loosely to her arm, her hands lost inside her sleeves, tripping over the endless hem. She didn't seem to notice as she stumbled forward with every other step. She looked as though she hadn't slept in two full weeks, either that or she had hit middle-age at an astonishingly early time in her life. Lavender and Parvati would never have shown their faces in public again… But she was neither Lavender Brown nor Parvati Patil, she was Hermione Granger, and frankly, she didn't give a damn.

Both boys, stood up, quite without thinking, and Harry would regret this impulse in another moment. She looked like a madwoman, and yet, _she_ studied their faces as though _they_ were violently insane. After a moment's visual searching of them, she cried out and ran forward as fast as the bulky nightgown would allow her. She grabbed Harry, tripping forward as she did so, so that they were both on the floor, Hermione hugging him so tightly that he began to worry about his circulation. Struggling to speak, he gently attempted to shove her off, as he panted "Hermione!… Need… Air…. Can't… Breathe…"

But Hermione didn't seem to hear him, and she squeezed him even tighter, and Ron, grumbling, eventually had to peel her off of him. She stood up shakily, and standing there she looked like a tower of blocks that a small child had piled far too high, as though she'd topple over at any given moment. But Hermione would do no such thing.

Harry lay there for another moment, looking up at his two best friends looking down at him as though the fate of the world depended on his every movement. Ron looked grim but brave, like a soldier off to the battlefield, like an infantryman in the First World War about to go "Over the Top." Hermione's expression was far more disturbing… A tear or two streaming silently down her cheek, she seemed resolutely standoffish, hardened and impossible to approach, standing there with her arms crossed, looking down at him as though he were already dead. There was a brief moment of complete stillness, before Harry decided to face the world, and shakily rose.

She spoke in a voice so distant and cold and harsh that it was very unlike her. "Harry, tell me you're alright."

"Errr… I'm alright." He couldn't stand their penetrating stares, and glanced away, escapingly.

"Mean it."

"I mean it." A brief disbelieving silence ensued, and Harry knew that his answer wouldn't be accepted as long as he was looking at the fireplace, at the clock, all about the Common Room, anywhere but into the eyes of she who had questioned him. Screwing up his steely resolve, he bored his eyes into her and repeated, "I mean it."

"Mmmmm…" She mumbled indistinguishably.

Harry could see by the look on Ron's face that he had taken it upon himself to bring some form of communication into the chilled atmosphere. "Hermione, you didn't actually sleep in the same room as that girl did you?"

Of course, no one had to even bother asking who Ron was referring to when he mentioned "that girl."

"Don't be thick Ron, of course I didn't. We all went up and camped out in the Sixth Year Dormitories. I was the first to wake… I was the only one to get up so… That's not true, Parvati and Lavender are currently curling their eyelashes," she scowled, "how they can be so insensitive and idiotic as to be so concerned with their _eyelashes_ after last night's events, when we all could have been killed… Is irrelevant anyway." She groaned, stopping short, and Harry was a bit taken aback, it wasn't like Hermione to speak ill of people behind their backs, in fact, he and Ron had never had the slightest of ideas what went on in the Gryffindor Girls' Dormitories, what was spoken about, nor did they care either, but still… Although, he thought, it had to be admitted that Hermione had restrained herself in that last moment, and in any case she wasn't exactly herself that morning. 

"In any case, I was the first to rise, and I checked out our usual dormitories… She wasn't there. She's gone."

Ron, returning to his usual self, again jumped three steps ahead of the game. "That's it! She's made off, run away, scampered! I _told_ you two… Now tell me," again, Ron was forgetting himself and began to pester Hermione when he quite obviously should not have done so, "Miss Smartypants, if she's so decent and not at all evil, where's she got to and why?"

He wore an annoyingly smug, arrogant scowl-smirk, and it seemed as though Hermione was holding herself in from the urge to slap him across the face. "I don't know, Ron!" Her eyes glittered insanely. "Perhaps you should tell us, since you obviously know everything. Perhaps when you've found the answer you'll be so kind and let the rest of us know, my Lord." Her voice was tense and icy.

Stupefied silence once more.

Frustrated, she stomped off towards the Girls' Staircase calling out coldly behind her, "You lot had better get dressed before someone comes and starts asking the wrong questions."

The two boys raised their eyebrows in perfect synchronization and shot one another their characteristic sidelong glances.

"Meet you at breakfast?" Ron called timidly and uncertainly to her retreating form. She didn't respond, simply slamming the door behind her.

Harry didn't know quite what to make of it.

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~**~_~**~_~**~

Breakfast that morning was unusually cold and mushy, reminiscent of gruel, and even the weather seemed to share their gloomy mood. Not long after sunrise, what had been a clear day had quickly turned to grim, grey haze. Ron wondered whether or not the house elves had been feeling it. 

It was, that morning, a silent affair, the unbroken stillness filled with the same tense atmosphere as had the Cold War. It seemed that, forty-five minutes later, as he sat midway chomping on whatever it was that he was eating, that Hermione wasn't pleased with him… He wondered why. What had he said? Something about the whole fiasco was nagging at him, pulling at his gut as it would not have a few years earlier. He did not want to see her unhappy, and he knew that there was some kind of reason behind that, something beyond his usual desire to keep his friends in the best of spirits, but he couldn't figure out quite what that reason was… And it was riddling the heck out of him, driving him mad. He had half-a-mind to ask her about it himself, after all, Hermione could figure anything, couldn't she?… But no, asking her something about his own thoughts and feelings seemed strange and awkward, even though he knew well that Hermione would relish the thought of tackling any sort of problem, and so he kept his big mouth shut.

No, it was too confusing, he'd just have to figure it out himself, later on… Now there were more important things at hand. Harry was so very quiet, and not an ordinary sort of quiet, disturbedly silent. Something was very wrong. Okay, so there was _obviously_ something wrong, any fool could have told you that after last night's events, but there was more to it than that… He knew it, somehow, call it intuition, call it the strong bonds of friendship, call it whatever you like, but somehow, he knew. Harry knew something that he and Hermione did not know. There was _definitely_ something he had not told them. Why would Harry be keeping things from them? It was so unlike him… And it was that that bothered Ron even further, what could possibly have disturbed Harry so much so as to knock his character out of him?

What, indeed.

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"Ah, Cimerii," the Dark Lord hissed to no one in particular, holding the letter in his hand. He gazed out of the prison-cell-like window of his chamber throne room, out into the midnight sky. "Cimerii, Petranni, my faithful servant, I must commend you on your acting skills, I did not think that your daughter would trust you so easily. Perhaps she is more a sentimental, gullible fool than I thought her to be. No matter, I shall fix that, and soon."

"And at last, Harry Potter, you will be done for."

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~**~_~**~_~**~

That morning the Fifth Year Gryffindors and Ravenclaws had double Defense Against the Dark Arts first thing in the morning. The students of the latter house swarmed in that morning in a particularly glorious temperment, and several of the boys slapped Harry on the back in congratulations for yesterday's food fight. Evidently, they had not heard.

For obvious reasons, the Gryffindors were not in their usual spirits, and were not feeling nearly as wonderful as the Ravenclaws, to say the least. The classroom was unsurprisingly enshrouded in whispers, and before long the eagles were in the same state as their brother lions. Doubtless by lunchtime the entire school would know the story.

Just as the day before, Professor Sanies scrambled in at only the last moment, just as the bell rang, wearing another pair of sunglasses. Although she was tiny, only having been about five feet tall or thereabouts, there was something about Professor Sanies that made her seem like so much more, larger-than-life if you will, and even Hermione Granger could not quite put her finger on exactly what that was. No, even Hermione did not quite know, but it didn't really matter, she just hoped the woman stayed on beyond a year.

As she entered the classroom, Lorelei Sanies was calling down at someone down the hallway, scolding them for causing her such tardiness, and she soon slammed the door behind her, and strolled in charismatically. "Little blighters," she mumbled to herself, to Hermione's surprise, and popped herself Indian-style on top of her desk. The professor flipped up her sunglasses distractedly, so that they sat from behind her ears to her crown and functioned as a headband, and it took only a moment for her eagle-sharp electric blue eyes to notice that something was amiss.

"Somebody's missing," she observed grabbing the roll, she was certainly not having the best of days, Hermione concluded, although she didn't seem to let it carry over to her students. Hermione liked that in a teacher.

"Petranni!" A Ravenclaw in a distant corner called out, the voice for all of them. Now, here one would expect the room to explode in whispered furor, but here

something truly remarkable and unique did occur… The class, out of love and respect for a teacher they had just met, waited in complete silence for her to respond. Hermione was impressed.

Professor Sanies raised her eyebrows and allowed them to hang there for a moment, her eyes telling them that she did not like the absentee, but her words obviously trying to hide that fact. "Well… Well, well well." She did not seem to be able to find the proper words, and so she simply conitnued. "Everyone else here then?" She seemed too tired to do anything else but trust the class, and made a small, single mark on the roll as the class affirmed that this was in fact the truth.

"Professor – …" started that same Ravenclaw, whose name happened to be Devon Evanshire.

"Eht!" Professor Sanies interrupted sharply and strongly, "First of all, how many times must I tell you, it's Lorelei, none of this 'Professor' business, not when we're alone anyhow. Second of all, I'm afraid that we have a very important lesson planned for today, and it's very extensive, so I'm afraid we'll have to jump right into it. I'll have to take a rain-check on that last comment, question, whatever."

Hermione grumbled inwardly, she was unable to think of anything productive that morning, and she did not want to miss anything important in her absence of mind. I would simply say here that it was not her day, but that would be an understatement, and would not do the girl justice.

And so, Professor Sanies began immediately to discuss the unit on Aurorship, and the most important aspect of it… Something or other. Hermione found that try as she might she simply could not keep her mind where it belonged, in class, and after much struggling, she resigned herself to the fact that she could think of nothing else…

She had gotten word last night. It had been a close call. One of the other girls had almost received her owl… She shuddered to think what might have happened had such a misfortune befallen her. She rubbed her aching left arm and thought of how much she had changed that summer, how she had done things she had never thought she could do… And she knew what would happen if these things were discovered. She would leave this school and never return, she would never again see the faces of her "friends," unless of course, she saw them die. That was the only way. She would sink into complete darkness… Well, she thought, filled with anguish, how much further into darkness could she sink?… Knowing what she had done already. She cradled her left arm, which was burning something miserable, and tears streamed down her face, thinking of how she had made all the wrong choices that summer… How could she have done it? How? She gazed over at Harry and then Ron, looking at him for a while, they both seemed to be paying rapt attention, although Harry was struggling a bit, and thought of how she had betrayed them. How could she call herself their friend after what she done? Ah, the pain, she could barely stand it, her arm seared unbelievably, and she knew what that meant… But not now, no, she couldn't leave right now, in the middle of it all, it would be so obvious, and the truth would come out, and she didn't think she could stand that.

Oh, what had happened? What had happened to the girl she used to be?

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~**~_~**~_~**~

Demetrius Petranni sat in his cave hideout. He had sent word out about his "triumph," so called, last night. He thought about his daughter, and what he had done to her… How easily she had trusted him, he hadn't expected that. Why? Why hadn't she just saved herself and ran from him? If only she knew what was to happen to her, if only she knew… 

Oh how he had tricked and treated that poor girl. It had been so easy, simple really, but it was so hard for him to bear. Had he saved her, would the Dark Lord now have mercy on her? Had he hurt her? Put her right in harm's way, throwing her so that she fell perfectly into the trap of Voldemort?

There was no turning back. Not now that he had made all those wrong choices. Not now that he had done what he had done. He knew that.

Oh what had he done?

Oh what had happened? What had happened to the man he used to be?

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Alina Petranni simply could not go to class. She simply could not. She walked past the Defense Against the Dark Arts room, the windows were shut and the blinds down and the students in the classroom (which she was supposed to be in) could neither see nor hear her.

She stealthily drew the poisoned dagger she had been secretly carrying… She smiled with twisted glee. She could not wait to draw blood with this knife… To see them suffer. They were all fools. Fools. Fools not to have taken her out from the moment they knew of her presence. 

And soon they would pay for it.

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~**~_~**~_~**~

Somewhere deep in the heart of the unknown, a voice was calling out, it was asking… "Who do you trust?"

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~**~_~**~_~**~

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A/N: Ha! Mwahahahahahaha! Weren't expecting all that were you? I hope I've left you something to think about! Mmmm… I'm sick, bleck. I have a bad sore throat, I feel like [insert prefered unpleasant term here], my head is tight with headache and yet spinning, it's 3:30 AM, and I have to get up early tomorrow! And, I can't go to bed until I've finished thanking all of you (all two of you that is), because I promised I would… And you can trust ME, hehehehehe. Yes, I'm perfectly evil aren't I? Well, I'd like to thank my loverly reviewers, without you, I'd be lost… Since Jess and Ady are so wonderful for reviewing, the next chapter will be dedicated to them. ^_^ Thanks guys! ::sticks out tongue at everyone else::

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Jeanne: How about this? Is this better? I upped it from size 10 to size 12, but I don't know if it'll work. WOW. YOU MEAN IT? REALLY? THANX!!!!!!!

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Ady: You expect me to reveal the narrator, easily as you revealed the true nature of James Bell, eh? LOL. Obviously I'm not going to say a word about it, only that the clues are there if you look hard enough, and I personally don't think it takes much looking, but after all, I did write the thing. ::gasps and blushes:: Wow, THANKS!!!

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Both Ady & Jeanne:Wow. Very few times have I ever been so flattered, you have no idea how much this means especially coming from you, so infinite hugs of thanks and an eternity of gratitude!


	10. The Story of Us

Chapter Ten:

The Story of Us

It was early morning.  Only breakfast, really.  Near dawn, barely a creature was stirring…  Of course, as can be expected, the woman of the house was up, making that breakfast.  Morgan Cole yawned numbly as she shuffled sleepily about the kitchen.  Pulling her long, disheveled, curly-wavy auburn hair into an untidy bun at the crown of her head, she trod over to the cabinet.  "Crack of ruddy dawn," she grumbled to herself in a soft but very thick Irish brogue.  "Of course, who's up?  The wife.  The mother.  The woman of the stinkin' house…  And all those ladies up in Wellington are squaking about how 'far we've come?'  Lordy I'm beginning to think it's all a screamin' heap o' rubbish.  Late twentieth century and all and still the lady of the house is sleep-deprived and up at the crack o'dawn, fixin' breakfast for her lazy-arse husband…  And oh Hell, it isn't supposed to be this warm in November!"  She flung her bathrobe onto the couch on the other side of the kitchen island, as though it were filled with itching-powder.

A decisive flicker in the sleepy eyes exactly the color of her hair had her stomping her way exaggeratedly to the stairwell.  "LEO!"  She called up the stairs in an aggravated fashion, "WAKE UP!!!  GET YOUR LAZY ARSE OUT OF BED!"

A sleepy groan was the response that greeted her.  "IF YOU DON'T GET UP, I'LL DUMP A BUCKET OF ICE-WATER ON YOUR HEAD!"

"No you won't.  Just – jusa – fi-fi-five-more-m-minutes," came the voice of a half-dreaming young man from the upper story.  "Don't wanna go to school."

Morgan rolled her eyes and stomped her way up the stairs.  After a brief few moments of what must have sounded like Barnum and Bailey's Three Ring Circus finally gone over the edge, the young woman could be seen dragging her scruffy-haired husband down the stairs by the ear with a stern and determined but triumphant grin on her face.  "Ow, ow, OW!!!  Will you let go of me?!  I'll do whatever you want if you just give me my ear back!"

She released him, spinning, into the kitchen.  "Why in the world do we have to be up this early?" he yawned in a slightly thick New Zealand accent.

She shot him a dangerous look, "You have to be up because I couldn't sleep and there's no way you're getting a full night's sleep if I can't have one.  Now help me make breakfast."

Leo shook his head, knowing better than to be surprised.  Morgan had never been a morning person and she never would be.  Were he more awake, he'd have found the situation rather comical.  He kissed his wife on the cheek, hoping to see her smile…  Maybe then he'd get to drop off on the couch.  No such luck, he noted, as he watched the line of her mouth squiggle suspiciously.

He stepped behind her and wrapped his arms around her, rocking back and forth on his feet and propping his head over and to the left of hers.  "C'mon, Morg…  Let's be rebels, let's not make breakfast, we'll be against breakfast!  Let's do something really BAD…  Let's get over onto that couch and…" He dropped his voice into a conspiratorial whisper and said into her ear "…fall ASLEEP!  C'mon, you know you want to."

She grinned mischievously, using her left arm to pull his right ear level to her mouth, and whispered back "Nice try, Mister Smooth."  Giving him a playful shove against the wall at the other side of the kitchen, she strutted up to him…  Walked her fingers up his chest…  Leaned in close…  And grabbed him by the shirt collar, dragging him over to the stove.  "But you're helping me make breakfast, whether you like it or not."

"I love you, darling?" He said hopefully, "You look absolutely beautiful on this late-spring morning?"  

She growled at him, gritting the words out of her teeth.  "Help.  Breakfast.  NOW.  Personal.   Injury."  Surrendering, he grabbed the pancake mix out of the cabinet and set to work.  She rolled her eyes, but her face gave way to an inevitable grin.  Biting her lip on her smile, she sighed, her voice betraying her affection, "Leon Ezekiel Cole, what am I going to do with you?"

He gave her a searching look, "You just HAD to say the middle name, didn't you?"

She caved in, giggling, "It's funny.  Ezekiel.  What kind of…?"

"You know my grandparents are VERY Orthodox…  They wanted me to have a really Jewish name somewhere, something they could find in the Torah…  Or something like that.  Apparently Leon wasn't 'Jewish enough,' for them.  My parents weren't all that into that, so they stuck it in the middle name, I think they hoped no one would notice.  You know that…  You just like to laugh at me."

She nodded mischievously, shoulders shaking with silent, suppressed laughter.  "I just never thought I'd find a Maori-English-New Zealander Jew.  C'mon, you have to admit it's a little funny…  I think it's cute."  She sauntered up to him and rubbed his arm, leaning her head on his shoulder.

He raised his eyebrows at her, eying the crucifix dangling at her neck.  "It's a good thing Bubby and Zaede are in London still…  I don't think I could stand it if every day I had to deal with their yacking about what kind of grandson I am, getting married to a Catholic shiksa, and about my daughters being gentiles…  Oi.  I never understood that.  Why should it matter?"

She gave him a sympathetic look.  "And my parents…  They keep telling me I should have kept my maiden name.  No respectable Irish girl would take an English name they tell me."  She imitated her mother "Really, Morgan!  After all our ancestors have fought for, after all the oppression, the cruelty, the persecution, after all the blood this family spilt trying to get away from those bloody Brits and be free at last…  You go and marry one of them!"  She rolled her eyes and nestled in closer to her young husband's chest.  "They just don't see what I see."

He gazed down into her heart-shaped face.  Her milk-white skin glowing (in his eyes) in the early morning light, her auburn-colored eyes dancing worriedly, pale, thin, pink lips stretched into a forced smile of hope; her long auburn hair, a wild mess of curls and waves, tumbling untamed out of her bun.  "I bet they aren't too happy about me not being Catholic either."

She frowned.  "No…  They're not.  They're very religious and traditional.  They don't understand why you're not a good Roman Catholic boy."

"Because my adoptive parents aren't," he replied.

"I think they still don't know about Vatican II," she continued, irritatedly, as though he hadn't spoken.  She rolled her eyes and sighed in frustration.  "I'm a sinner, I'm going straight to Hell."

He gave her a lopsided grin.  His dark hair shone in the November sun, his copper-toned skin of obviously Maori descent coming up bronze in the light of that rising star.  "I thought that was me."

She gave him a lopsided grin right back, eyes sparkling, "Well, if that's where you have to go, I'll gladly follow you there."

He pulled her in closer to him, kissed the top of her head, and squeezed her shoulder.  "Well, we don't need them," he declared.  

She raised her face to him, smiling.  "No: we don't, do we," she whispered, more of a statement than a question.  They leaned in close to one another, wrapping their arms around each other's necks…  And then they heard a muffled cry erupt from upstairs and no small amount of stumbling.  Morgan blew the hair falling into her eyes out of the way with a small puff of air from the corner of her mouth.  Leo leaned in, pressed the bone of his nose to hers and said "The kids are up."

She gave him a little kiss and said "You go and get Brenna and Tzipora, I'll finish making breakfast."

He didn't move, giving her a pleading look and puppy-dog eyes.  "Do I _have_ to?  C'mon, I'm sure they'll fall asleep again if we just let them alone awhile…"  He winked at her and gave her a devious shark's grin.

She burst out laughing, raising her eyebrows skeptically at him, and shoved him, giving him a playful punch.  "Yes, now go up and get them, you pervert."  Her hands trembled slightly and she watched as he shuffled off, pouting, his head hung in mock obedience.  She looked down at the pancake batter she poured into the skillet.  Suddenly, she was unable to wipe that fool's grin off of her face.

After a good while and some interesting sounds, Leo was on his way down, singing atrociously out of key and carrying two dark-haired little girls, aged four and two years.  He set the older girl down, who, after realizing that despite her protests she was not going to get picked up again, grappled onto her father's leg like a weight.  The toddler scrambled over his shoulders into the position of a piggy-back, her hands covering her father's eyes, and her tongue sticking out at her older sister below her.  Morgan looked at Leo, frantically trying to realign Tzipora's hands so that he could see where he was going, as though she was struggling very hard not to laugh.  "Another typical day in Tauranga, then?' she mused aloud.  "It seems I married the village idiot."

"Hey now!" he said, still struggling to remove his clinging children from him, "I resent that statement!"  Giving her a silly grin he continued, "Tales of my idiocy go far beyond the village…  Honestly, I'm far more famous than that!  Hmph!" he huffed in mock indignation.

It was when the pancakes had been piled onto all their plates (drowned in butter and maple syrup of course) and they had all settled down to satisfy their massive appetites that the doorbell rang.

As Morgan arose to answer it, her husband jumped up, wiggling his eyebrows, and followed her closely, as though playing a detective game.  Before she could open the door, he sprung up behind her and covered her mouth playfully.  Wrapping his arms then around her toothpick frame, he drew her in close to him and refused to let her go.  "Oh come now, Leo, you can have your fun later…  Let me answer the door for goodness' sake!"

"And what if I don't?"

"Jesus, Mary, and Joseph!"  She swore, before making the sign of the cross as in repentance, letting out a puff of air in an attempt at patience.  "Get your head out of the gutter Leo…  Promise I'll make up for it later," she cooed playfully, mediating her demand.

He only gripped her tighter, chuckling to himself, binding in her arms.  "You never answered my question…  What if I don't?"

Her eyes sparkled with malice, although he couldn't see it, as though to say: _Well, if that's the way you want it…  "THIS!" she shouted as she wrenched her right arm free and jabbed him hard in the stomach.  She smilied victoriously as he stumbled back, clutching his stomach, and she opened the door._

She stopped smiling when she saw who was on the on the other side of the threshold, however.  Not bothering to hide her confusion, she raised her eyebrows suspiciously.  She had never seen anyone dressed like this before…  Much less a whole crowd of people.  Frowning in bewilderment at the horde of people before her, dressed in long, heavy-looking black cloaks, she was for a moment dumbstruck.  She didn't like the looks of these people, they seemed awfully dodgy.  "Who are you?  What do you want?" she asked, her voice trembling…  Fear prevailing in her intuition, she could feel her gut twist in warning.

One of the men (_awfully snobby looking, she thought) handed her a newspaper.  "Hello," he said, seeming to…  Was he sneering at her?  Who did this stranger think he was?  "I believe you haven't picked up your paper yet."_

"Oh, thank you," she said in a hard voice thick with suspicion.  She glanced at the headline "23rd November, 1986: **MORE GO MISSING: PRIME MINISTER UNABLE TO EXPLAIN SUDDEN DISAPPEARANCE OF MORE THAN 100 NEW ZEALAND CITIZENS**"  She turned to her husband, tossing the paper aside within the house.  She reached for his hand and squeezed it tight in anxiety.  "Now, if you'll excuse my asking, what exactly is your business here at this hour?"

The man smiled, showing them his sharp, bright-white teeth in a disturbing manner.  His cold, grey eyes flashed sadistically, "Why, you see, we're here on official government business…  We've heard that there's been a bit of magic going on here, and…"

_Magic???  WHAT was this man talking about?  Ten year old children knew that there was no such thing as magic.  She and Leo exchanged disturbed looks.  He spoke up "Look, I don't know what you're playing at, but you're obviously not from Wellington…  So if you would just give up this sick charade and vacate the premises…"_

"Oh, of course we're not from Wellington," the blond man said, in an aristocratic British accent.  He smiled again.  Neither Morgan nor Leo liked this…  They both seemed to get the feeling that anything that made this man happy could not be good for them.  "Not that decrepid government in the feeble muggle metropolis."

_Muggle__?__  What was that supposed to mean?  Perhaps the stranger had lost his mind entirely.  "Then you're not from the government.  Please leave," Leo growled between his teeth._

"Oh," the blond man said, he seemed to be simply shaking with controlled glee, "but we ARE your rulers…"

Here the couple attempted to interrupt (quite disgusted might I add), but they were once again cut off.

"You see," he said simply and flippantly, "we've detected some rudimentary magic going on in this house, and so we've come to take your children away."

At that moment, the older girl, Brenna, appeared by her mother's side.  "What's going on, Mummy?  Why is that man here?  Can he go away?"  She cooed with a trembling innocence, "He's scaring me."  She clung to the skirts of Morgan's nightgown, twisting the material in her little fists.

Morgan, biting her lip, whispered to the child to take Tzipora and to go hide somewhere where no one could find them, and to hurry.  "Listen," she said to the strangers, her face burning with cold, hard fury and determination, "I don't know _who you think you are, but if you don't get the hell out of here right now, I'll have you in prison quicker than you can say 'police!'"_

"Oh really?  Is that so?"  The man seemed amused, as though he were fighting very hard not to laugh at his unsuspecting victims.  "Why, you're not being very polite, are you?  We're your guests…  Have a little hospitality."

Both opened their mouths to speak, but were shocked to find that no words would come out.  Horrified as the man, brandishing a stick of some sort, stepped closer to them, they did the only thing they could think of and slammed the door in his face.  Morgan ran to the telephone and Leo locked all the doors and windows.  Still, neither could speak.  Morgan paced about, biting her lip and shaking her head madly, seeming a bit near tears as she tried so very hard to speak into the telephone, but couldn't.

They had both just reached the door once more when it swung open as though the locks did not exist.  The blond man, chuckling slightly at the horrified looks on the young couple's faces, stepped inside.  "No, no manners at all," he sneered.  "I believe I shall have to teach you a lesson in proper etiquette, shan't I?"  He pointed that stick of his directly at them.

Before he could speak again, however, a small child ran to stand in front of him.  She seemed as though she could only have been about six years old, yet still, the fiery redhead seemed to command authority with her presence.  "Mister Malfoy!" She demanded, "Stop!  They are only _muggles after all, they don't know any better.  Do not hurt them!  If you do it will make you worse than they are!"_

Lucius glanced resentfully in her direction and shoved the child violently against the wall.  "I don't take orders from children," he spat.  Pointing his wand at her, he opened his mouth to speak once more…

And then a shadow fell over them both.  A dark man stood behind Lucius and pulled him back.  "Is there a problem, Malfoy?" the man said, with a tone of pure disgust.

Lucius' pupils contracted in fear and hatred as he turned to face his challenger.  "No, of course not, Mister Petranni, I was only…"

But his unconvincingly-submissive tone was interrupted.  "Listen, Malfoy," Mister Petranni spat, "I don't care what kind of big-shot you think you are because everyone in England is under your thumb.  Here, you are _nothing, and you'd find it best to remember your place…  On pain of death."  He spoke that last sentence as though he had been commenting on the weather.  "Now, you will do as I say…  And as I am obliged to go to the Ministry at the moment, you will do as my child commands you in my stead.  You must remember, Malfoy, you low-born scum, that I **own** the law-enforcement agencies here.  So, put one toe out of line, and I will have you executed.  Keep that in mind."  Lucius bowed painfully with a bitter glint in his cold, grey eye.  And all of a sudden the dark man was gone._

"If you'll excuse me for just a moment," he snarled at Morgan and Leo, who had been trying to sneak away during this brief intercession, and froze the two promptly in their places, "I have to take care of a little something.  Now, Miss Petranni," he approached the child, who arched her posture and stiffened her shoulders the closer he came, "Be it far from me to show any disrespect to one of your high birth.  Although," he grinned his shark's grin, "you'll have to forgive me for this moment of indiscretion, but I can't have any little girl ruining all my fun, now, can I?"  He pointed his wand at the little girl and cried out some strange words that neither Morgan nor Leo understood.  

The little girl was frozen on the spot, and only the movement of her eyes betrayed any sign of life.

**~**~_~**~_~**~**

Luciana glanced up into the midwinter sunlight streaming through the stained glass window and pulled her shawl closer around her robes in a desperate effort to keep warm.  She rose from her desk, crossed the library floor, and stoked the fire with her wand.  Muttering to herself disagreeably about the muggle-like state of the Hogwarts heating system, she summoned her warmest, thickest cloak to her and draped it over her shawl.

"What are you doing, Lucie?" called a young man in a booming drawl.  He was a tall and well-built man of muscle…  Only his youthful voice betrayed him to his true years.  Anyone who had heard him would have known that this boy was not a day older than eighteen.  Seeing as today was his eighteenth birthday, this was so.  Luciana turned to the boy.  Her long black curls met his straight platinum locks, her softly rounded white face met his pale, angled, pointed countenance, and piercing silvery eye met piercing silvery eye.  There was little warmth in either gaze.

" 'Tis no business of thine, Hades."  Luciana rolled her eyes and continued scratching away on the yellowed parchment before her irritably as though she had never been interrupted from the first.

But Hades Malfoy was not so easily dissuaded.  He approached the fifteen year old girl at the bench slinkily, with a morbid fire in his eye.  Gripping her shoulder a little harder than she would have liked, he whispered dangerously in her ear, "Oh no?  Perhaps Father would think otherwise…"

He made a grab for the parchment, which she craftily blocked, and gripped her arm hard enough that she knew instantly she would find finger-shaped bruises there next morning.  "Fine," she hissed bitterly, a serpent-like demon apparently speaking in her place.  "If you must know, I am writing to France," she lied quickly…  Not that she expected Hades to believe her, for he knew well how she loathed her French cousins irreversibly.  She swore quietly under her breath with the hope that she could convince him, at least, persuade him from interest in this intrigue.  "It is a grueling business, but necessary nonetheless.  Thou knowest well, Hades, what will befall our division if we do not show our root, the base, the respect they demand of us.  There is no shame in a little false penitence if it will buy us more power for our region."

She gave him her coldest, hardest Malfoian glare (it is a gaze to make the blood run colder than ice,) daring him to challenge her account.  He merely raised an eyebrow in response, as if t'were nothing at all, a carefully cynical glint in his eye.  "It has never been your manner to display such prudence, Lucia…  I must say I question what thy true objective is.  What is your motivation?  Thou hast never been concerned with the troubles of the family.  Thou hast never cared in the slightest for our situation as a division, for our empowerment as the British regiment.  You must excuse my lack of faith inst thou, _dear_ little sister, but thou hast always given me the impression that thou wouldst sooner be guilty of fratricide than see the day this family revels in the glory that will so rightly come to it."

"What makes you think that I am doing any of this for you?  Play not the fool, Hades, thou knowest that the gains of our regiment are my gains _just_ as well as they are thine.  Some time if one desirest to awake to gold, one must lie in straw.  If it means that I might one day live as I _so rightly_ should, I accept that I must lie with the dogs."

He twisted her wrist, and as she struggled to keep from yelping out in pain, he continued to challenge her in his dangerously soft verbal tones.  "So audacious, sister…  It is not prudent for a woman to be so bold.  Thy foolhardy impulsiveness would be more befitting of a _Gryffindor_…"

At this, she spat in her older brother's face and wrenched free her wrist.  "Simply because I am not fool enough nor base enough to be thy lap dog as is Cerberus?!  Oh you _are_ a fool, Hades, and one day I shall make thee see…"

"Oh, but shall you?  What _will you do?  You are but fifteen…  A little girl, baby sister.  Now if you'll excuse me, oh Powerful One," he sneered sarcastically as he strutted back out the door, "there are important things and important people to attend to."_

She stood and glared at her brother's retreating back.  As she watched him round the bend she whispered to herself  "But you shall see, brother of mine…  There shall come a day when little sisters and fifteen year old girls will shape the fortunes of all mankind.  I promise you that."

**~**~_~**~_~**~**

            Lily Evans stood, back firmly against the wall, glaring at the petite young woman opposite her.  "Look, Aurora…  I know we never knew each other well at Hogwarts.  We weren't exactly friends…  But you're just going to have to get over that.  Very quickly.  You've got to talk to someone, Rory."

            The other young woman looked up at her from across the narrow hallway with a strange, guarded yet piercing glint in her bright blue eyes.  She did not speak.

            "Please, Rory…  I'll wait here all day if I have to, I don't mind."  Lily took the time provided her by the other's silence to study the person before her.  She had known Aurora Ambrose ever since she first came to Hogwarts.  Everyone in Hogwarts knew Aurora Ambrose.  Aurora, with her blue eyes, her golden hair tinted with cherry fire, her bewitching grin, and her ministry father, though small and slight in stature, was the sort of girl who very few people could ignore.  She was the friendliest girl in the school and was widely known to all, friend or foe, as "Rory."  

Lily had never known her very well personally, however…  Although Aurora was a year ahead of her in school, Lily knew that if she made the effort, she could easily have been admitted into Aurora's innermost circle of friends…  So it had not been on account of inability…  It had been on account of lack of motivation.  Unlike so many of the other Gryffindor girls, Lily was not impressed with Aurora.  She never knew precisely why, exactly, but the fact remained that she was just not interested in the Ambrose heiress.  Of course, one does not want to create false impressions, she had nothing against the girl, Aurora was indeed very sweet and doubtless an invaluable friend, but despite all that Lily remained indifferent.  Aurora was too much of an open book, she had no true secrets, and despite the deep mystique behind her very old and high-born-among-purebloods family name, she led a fairly normal life and Lily in fact found her to be a bit on the boring side, to put it politely.  Aurora Ambrose had always just lacked a certain edge.  Even Lily had to admit, however, that she had always sensed that something great was to come to her, that destiny had something in store, that it was fated for something dark to befall and consume Aurora Ambrose.  She had always ignored this feeling, however...  And in later days she would sincerely regret it.

            But that was all in the past, or, in the case of the latter, the future.  Presently, the nineteen year old noted, Rory had changed very much.  It would take careful study to pick out, because these changes were so subtle…  But small as they were, the size of these changes was well made up for by their potency.  Indeed, Lily hardly believed she was looking at the same person whom she had known as Head Girl and winner of the Hogwarts Class of 1977 "Best Personality" superlative award (_Or no personality_ Lily had thought at the time, instantly feeling guilty at mocking someone so very kind.)  The young woman before her, now Aurora _Petranni_, was hiding something.  And she had something of an iciness to her as well.  This was so completely out of character for her.  Lily felt slightly awful and hated to admit it but some darker part of herself found this new Aurora much more intriguing.  She had finally gotten an edge.  This would make it so much easier to try and talk to her, as Lily had never been much of an actress and thus had a very hard time and very little patience for keeping conversation with someone she found dull.

            As Aurora failed to respond still, Lily continued, eyes boring through the older woman at the opposite wall of the hall, imploring her to respond.  "Look, as I said before, I know we've never known one another very well, but we're in the same boat now, and we're going to have to work together.  I know something is wrong.  I'm very good with sensing people out, Rory, and no one else may have noticed it, but I know that something is wrong and you're hiding it.  I know you were always so friendly with James, and you might feel more comfortable talking to him, but I thought that maybe this would require a woman's touch.  James is sympathetic, yes; a good listener, yes; comforting, yes; but he is a bit too simple and straightforward.  His world is far too black-and-white.  There are certain things he just doesn't understand and has no capacity to understand…"  Lily glanced down at the engagement ring on her finger, twirling it with the thumb of her opposite hand, and said, more to herself than to Aurora, "I've always said he was much too sheltered."

            "That he is," Aurora replied through a knowing grin that did not truly reach her eyes.  Lily was elated that she had gotten her to speak…  Maybe now she could maneuver this conversation in her direction.

            "He's such a little rich brat," she giggled, "he's so spoiled.  Not in the traditional sense, of course, as he's never demanding outright…  People are right when they call him 'down-to-Earth,' but they are also, at another level, quite incorrect.  James has always been so sheltered and secure and loved and well-taken-care-of by his parents, and by his family, and by his friends and admirers, and, goodness, even by Hogwarts itself!...  Deep down he just doesn't understand that not everyone in the world has the same high moral standards of behavior that he has for himself, that not everyone is so innately good, that the world isn't that simple…  That it just doesn't work like that."  

Lily continued, trying very hard to put her thoughts into words.  "He doesn't understand that it isn't always going to turn out okay and that not everyone really means well.  He can't grasp that the world is not so easily divided into blacks and whites or goods and evils and is not filled with obvious answers.  And it frustrates him."  

"And so he's a spoiled brat, because he's never known any other reality than the one that gave birth to these convictions and this lack of perception, and he expects the same goodness he finds in himself of the world in general, and he expects that everyone else can see the things he believes to be so obvious, and he expects that everyone else is going behave just as morally as he does, that everyone else is going to be just as much a bastion of light as he is…  And when it doesn't turn out that way he gets frustrated and he feels hurt and he internally lashes out much like a spoiled child denied a cookie or a toy.  Very few people understand that…  That there is another side even to such goodness, that such 'perfection,' so called, can be so limiting."  Lily wished she could elaborate further, but that was the best she could do.

            She sighed in surrender.  "It's all because of the money, I swear it," she quipped with a derisive grin, "only wealth like that could protect someone so much from the reality of life."

            Rory raised her eyebrows and gave her a smile that clearly said: _you have no idea what you're talking about.  She opened her mouth as if to speak, and Lily inwardly cursed her idiocy…_

            _Stupid, stupid!  She thought to herself…  Of course, Lily had forgotten who she was talking to…  The Ambrose family was among the most ancient and wealthy in Europe, even the vast Potter fortune was dwarfed by comparison…  And Aurora was heiress to all of it.  "I mean…"_

            "I know perfectly well what you mean, Lily," Aurora grinned knowingly at her.  "Trust me, however, money can damage at least as much as it can protect.  Wealth, with its vast corruption and isolation, causes more problems than it is worth often times, and those born into money know just as much hardship as you do…  It is just hardship of another sort.  The wealthy have no monopoly on self-protective, sheltering 'bubbles,' I promise you that.  While they may seem immune to the troubles of the average person, the average person is indeed immune to many of their troubles.  There are entirely different worlds which you are speaking of, of which you know nothing (and be glad of that!), worlds of darkness just as worlds of light…  James is the way he is not because of his money, although I'll admit that might have helped it all along a bit, but because that is who he is…  He is an idealist.  And that is why you love him so very much, I believe...  Correct me if I am wrong."

            Lily was stunned.  Aurora had just, in those few moments of speech, knocked the wind out of her…  _Now_ she was impressed.  This woman was far more perceptive than she had ever in her highest moments of praise been given credit for…  Lily had never even thought of it that way, and yet this woman who barely knew her understood it all instantly.  Aurora was right.  "Maybe," she whispered, failing to find her voice out of shock.  "I think you may be right."

            The first genuine smile lifted out of Rory's face.  "Yeah," she teased gently, "I thought so too."

            _Now, Lily thought, noting how easily Aurora had manipulated the subject matter away from herself (__great Scot, _that girl is good!_), _'tis time to see if we get can Mrs. Petranni to shed the same light on her own self_.  "So," she said, trying to think of a discreet way of phrasing this, but in failing to do so giving up and lazily opting for bluntness, "are you going to tell me what's up?"_

            Aurora's smile faded instantly.  "I guess not.  Rory…  Please.  I just want to help you, you know.  What are you so afraid of?  You used to tell everyone everything…  Why the sudden change?  Is it to do with Demetrius?  If he's been hurting you I'll…"

            "No," she said in an alarmingly calm tone of voice.  "He has _not_ been hurting me.  What ever would make you believe such a thing?"

            Lily didn't know exactly what, but there was something about the icily hard manner in which Aurora had just spoken, and she figured that she had hit on something.  He may not have touched Rory for all she knew, but he definitely had something to do with all this.  "Well, I don't know, I just always…  He's always seemed…  Sort of…"  Lily stammered rather tactlessly and inwardly swore at her inability to phrase things properly.

            "He's such a suspicious character, that's what you're trying to say, isn't it?  Listen Lils, truly evil people are much more discreet than he is.  If Demetrius were hiding something, everyone would know it, my husband _is_ hopeless at deceit and disguise.  You just want to think he's done something wrong…  Because he was in Slytherin at school…  Because he's from the Mediterranean…  Because he's dark and evil-looking in a sexy sort of way that every good evil character is said to be…  Because he comes from an ancient, wealthy, and highly - respected pureblood family…  Because he is so good at his profession and has caught so many Death Eaters that it looks a little too easy…  Because he is a rising star in the Ministry and in wizarding society as an Auror…  Because of all of that, because we love to see our heroes fall.  Because that would make an excellent, overly-used plot for a deplorably-written but popular novel or a 'red hot' tabloid scandal.  You would love to believe it.  They would love to believe it.  That's why, isn't it, Lily?"  She had said all this in very slow, steady, and calm tones, yet all the same it had the effect and sting of a whip-like verbal snap.  

Lily was a little overwhelmed.  She did not know quite how to respond to that…  Although she did know one thing, she was beginning to reconsider whether or not she really liked this "Aurora-with-an-edge" better than she did the Aurora she had known at school.

            "No, of course not…  It's just…  Well, you two have been married for eighteen months now, right?"  Rory nodded.  "You were so happy at first, but over the past few months I've noticed some changes in you…  What is happening to you, Rory?  You used to be so open and innocent.  Now you're keeping things from the people who have the potential to help you most.  Now you're becoming sullen and – dare I say cynical in your sarcasm?  You've become darker.  I know Demetrius has had to be away a little more often now, because of his missions and what they're asking of him at the moment…  I was just wondering if you're alright…  Because I don't think you are, and I'm not going to lie to you, I don't think I like what you've become."

            Aurora looked into Lily's eyes with a painful reality and a piercing sorrow.  "You know, Lily, for all you speak of James' naïveté, I think that you're in unreality just as badly as he is.  The difference is that you hide it.  You may technically know what the world is really like, so you do not appear quite so obvious as does James, who does not have that technical knowledge…  But deep down you do not really believe it…  Because you have never experienced it.  No, I am not doubting that you have faced some hardship in your life, I'm sure you have, but you are still largely untouched and thus unaware of what things the world is capable.  These are trying times for us all, and the more time you spend in the real world, the more jaded you will become; the more you see, the more you will realize the truth…  I don't think we could get by and still retain our sanity if not for our cynical humor.  And as for my secretiveness…  Can you really blame me?"  Lily could see tears welling up in the blue eyes as Aurora seemed to have had the last straw and began sinking slowly to the floor.  She sniffled slightly.  "Who can you trust?  You don't know anyone.  One can never know who's on the right side…  We don't know _who they are.  Our enemy is **_faceless_, Lily.  What are we supposed to do?  I for one don't know.  All I know is that the less people I talk to, the less chance I have of dying at the hands of one of **__them.  __With evil all around me, **how** can I keep myself sane and whole and moderate?"_

            She drew her knees into her chest and hugged them in tightly.  "Christmas Eve is in two weeks.  I just remembered that.  I never know when is when anymore.  Do you know what my Christmas wish is?"  Lily was amazed at how instantly Aurora Ambrose Petranni could go from cold, sarcastic, cynical, and stinging to hopelessly innocent, childlike, and broken.  "Do you?  No then?  Someone I can trust…  Just one person I can talk to…  Because I swear it I will go mad if I can't talk to someone soon."

            Lily felt a little apprehensive about approaching Aurora who, by this point, had tears streaming silently down her crumpled and distant visage.  However, she reminded herself, she would be seeing quite a lot of this woman in the future as their husbands were assigned partners…  She might as well get over herself now.  With that in mind, Lily crawled over to her shattered new friend and drew her into her tightest, gentlest, and most genuinely sincere embrace.

            "By the way, Lily," Rory poked her head up briefly and said more through her red, raw eyes than through her mouth.  "Don't bother with that home pregnancy test.  It'll be positive.  You're six weeks along…  As am I."

            Lily simply gathered Aurora tighter in her arms despite feeling an iron fist clench desperately over her heart…  _How did she know?_

**~**~_~**~_~**~**

            Lucia slowly turned her head, not wanting to appear suspicious as she checked to see what had caused the momentary disturbance.  Someone was approaching, and he would be through the door frame at any moment.  Darkness had fallen well over an hour ago, and in the faint candlelight she could make out nothing but a shadowy silhouette.  Carefully she rolled up her recently finished parchment and tucked it into a pocket on the inside of her cloak.

            Arching her posture in anticipation, she squinted through the candlelight and called out harshly.  "Who disturbs me?"  The stranger's stride did not appear predatory, but one could never be entirely sure.

            She received no response, and she had drawn her wand before the figure stepped into the flooding light of the candles' flames.  The fire revealed long, loosely curled dark brown hair, a dark, Mediterranean complexion, and softly piercing emerald eyes.  Nikolai Petranni.  Tall enough to be a man.  Too skinny and wiry to be anything but a seventeen year old boy.  She lowered her wand.  "Don't you think this is a little dangerous…  Sir?"

            Her eyes silently asked him if he were sure they were alone.  He shut the door behind him.  "Miss, I assure you we are quite well abandoned here."  His pupils bored into her with the meaning, imploring her to drop her façade.

            "Very well," she temporarily dropped her gaze, swinging her head to the floor and back up at him in a smooth, fluid, circular, clocklike motion.  She slowly withdrew the parchment from her cloak and stepped closer to him.  Her shoes made an odd clapping sound as they slapped the parquet floor.  She spoke in low tones, but by no means was her voice soft, no, it was hard as steel and edged with ice, like a bitter wine laced with arsenic.  "Have you decided then?"

            "I have."

            "And?"  She stepped closer to him.

            "…  And, if you join with me, if you ally with our band, you shall have everything you ask and will be protected from the fate your family shall meet."  He met her forward stride and raised her one step.

            Luciana considered this for a moment.  "Everything I ask?  Define 'everything' for me, please…  Men are so slippery with words nowadays, one must always be sure of what they are holding their men to…"

            Nikolai did not flinch at being indirectly referred to as belonging to Lucia.  Nothing seemed to faze him, and he would not allow the Malfoy daughter to win the upper hand with such subtle, passive-aggressive intimidation.  "You shall have whatever you wish in the way of material things, within reason, that is, within our power, of course.  Furthermore, you shall have very much influence, if you understand my meaning, in your requests of personal matters, and shall be prithee to all the intelligence of my line…  Not a secret kept shall there be from you."  This was indeed a valuable commodity…  Secrets were very dangerous things then, you know.

            Shrewd as ever was a Slytherin, Luciana Malfoy knew how to make a deal, how to drive a bargain her way.  She stepped yet closer to Nikolai, drawing her hand out to his chest slowly but without caution.  She traced her fingers back and forth along his collarbone with a delicate sharpness, like the lightest touch of the finest silver blade.  As she lifted her face to his, her long black curls slipped slowly back, falling from her face, behind her shoulders, and to her back like velvety silk.  "And why exactly would I want any of that?  What use is any of it to me when I must sacrifice all I know for it?"  She brought her right hand up to smooth over his cheek with that same sweet but jaggedly sharp touch.  "Why is any of that worth anything to me?"  As she reached her point, she let her hand slide down to his chest once more, as she swiveled her finger there and pressed it into his heart.  "Why should I sell out my own kin for a few material comforts, a little bit of influence, and knowledge of what happens around me?  Why am I standing here?  Am I wasting my time?"  She pierced his emerald irises with her silvery eyes.  She was good.

            Two could play at this game.  Nikolai draped his arms over her shoulders as he replied, giving her measure for measure the same chillingly sweet stab of gently firm physical contact.  His grip on her shoulders was tight and binding, stinging them with chill warmth that would have intoxicated any woman of lesser mettle.  

He glared at her.  "Times are changing.  They have changed.  The old order is dead.  A new power is rising…  You know that, I know that, 'tis no use playing fools.  I offer you the security that every one of us needs to survive in these times.  There is no law enforcement, for laws no longer hold any sway.  Life as we know it is slowly descending into chaos, the fabric unwinding faster and faster every day…  And every day more blood bathes the streets and the pastures all over this cursed continent.  No one is safe anymore.  If you do not find something to hold onto, you too shall be swept away.  Only those who have the strength will survive, the rest will be led like lambs to the slaughter just like everyone else.  People are dying out there, Luciana…  And death does not appear to be discriminating.  Those who do not attach themselves to a higher power will perish away into pain and dark and nothingness and they will be forever forgotten."

"Thy family will perish, any way you prefer to look at it, it shall happen.  They shall fall and be crushed…  Thou, nay, thou needst not slip into the darkness never to return again.  If only you follow me, I shall give you and all of your descendants everything they have ever dreamed of and shall realize for them visions far greater even than those.  You have been gifted with this opportunity, and it would be foolhardy if you did not take it…  It would be an insult to thy Slytherin heart to deliberately step away from the chance to be saved."

            "My clan has been building on its resources, developing an army, consolidating our finances, strengthening our bonds, forming new alliances…  We are prepared, as prepared as any can be that is, and we shall rise from this death.  I am offering you the chance to join in that alliance and rise with us, as one of us.  With or without your help we will be successful, and with or without thy cooperation, regardless of thine action, thy family will be crushed, your regiment, your clan, is weak and divided, bitterness separates and impales them.  If, however, you forge this contract with me and my kin, you may be in the power to save even those you have the misfortune of sharing blood with, of those who have wronged you so and maligned you to a worthless child.  Be saved and ye shall save.  Don't you see, Luciana?...   If only you place your faith in me I can assure for you a place in the world to come.  If you shun me and refuse what I offer you, then nothing can save you, and thou shall be swept away like all the rest."

            There was a certain finality in his tone that she did not like, but with which she had to agree.  Unfortunately, Nikolai Petranni was right…  A dark shadow _had indeed fallen over the Earth, and she could feel it around her as the night came on deeper, darker, and ever faster.  Blood did bathe the streets and soak the countryside through and through, straight to the bone of the earth.  She was sure that even the water itself was no longer pure and blue.  The more time passed, the more the order seemed to disintegrate, and the harder they struggled trying to preserve it, the faster it all came undone.  Life was not life anymore.  Life was survival…  And those who could not find a foothold in power or protection would indeed be swept away by the red tide of blood to destruction, doom, and death._

            Although she did not yet say so, she had made up her mind to bind herself to him.  She felt she had no other choice.  What he offered her was conditional, it's true, it was dependent upon her pledging her loyalty only to him and his kin, forsaking all else…  But what else could she expect?  He was only a man after all, an imperfect human in an imperfect world, two circumstances which left him without the power to offer her anything unconditionally, without the power to be anything but unfair.  It was not as though he were God, she reminded herself, remembering and feeling once more some of the piety that had been beaten into her head as a child.  If he were God he would have the power and the capacity of heart to be fair and to judge her only based on the merits of her goodness, to be just and to make it right.  She reminded herself that an imperfect human being in an imperfect and impartially unfair world would have to ask for her loyalty to be able to save her, and this man was not God, thus he was without the power and heart to reach beyond that.  He was only a mere mortal, limited by imperfect human capability and subject to the conditions of the world around him.

            At the moment, however, perhaps dreaming in her heart of hearts of a day when she could finally find her place to rest, she concealed all emotion, refusing to let him know he'd won her over.  "How do I know you'll do what you say?"

            "You have my word."

            "Thy word is not enough.  As I said ere while, in times like these, words are slippery…  In times like these one's words alone cannot suffice, they must be accompanied by action."

            "I shall bind thee then, in contract of blood.  If thou wilst agree to meet me here tomorrow at midnight hour, it shall be sealed in that fashion.  Do you accept?"

            She looked up at him.  The inevitable moment had come, she dreaded it, but she had no choice but to say it, there could be no belaboring the moment.  "I do."  She tucked the parchment back into her cloak pocket, and as she glared up at Nikolai Petranni she felt a hot, angry knot in her stomach.  She wanted to get back at him, somehow, some way, as if to avenge the honor she had had to surrender and to defend what honor she had left…  To impress upon him her power and what awful things still might come to him should he try to take an ounce of that remaining dignity…  She could think of nothing, so she used the only tool of revenge she had at her disposal.  She leaned forward and kissed Nikolai Petranni.  It was not a kiss of love or sweetness or passion…  It was one of bitterness and power, of bite, of poison, of blood and iron…  A warning that would keep him in his place.

            With that, she opened the door and swept out of the chamber, disappearing in a swish of cloaks into the long corridor…  Into the fateful mist of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.  She had made that pivotal decision.  This new year of 1448 was going to change everything.

**~**~_~**~_~**~**

            Lily hurried out of the chemist's and dashed down the snowy London street to the Leaky Cauldron.  Thunder rolled, lightning cracked, and rain poured from the sky just as she crossed the threshold.  _Great,_ she thought, _raining again_.  She dreaded the thought of the slush that would contaminate the streets next morning.

Her small package throbbed anxiously against her thigh…  Over and over and over again.  Again and again the small box in the plastic bag swung back and forth as she walked, banging violently against her legs with each step.  The plastic bag revolved and spiraled as she stepped forward, the handles twisting around her fingers and threatening to cut off her circulation.  Her breath was quick and shallow as she stepped through the shadows into the pub.  Her heart pounding mercilessly, she kept as best she could to the shady corners and dark walls as she crossed the pub floor with her eye focused solely on the back door.  Once she had slipped into the back alley, tapped her way along the bricks, and skated quaintly into Diagon Alley, she turned in the direction of the Broomsway Avenue Apparation Dock.

            She was two steps from her destination when she came face to face with perhaps the last two women she wanted to see on the face of this Earth.  Guinevere Brown and Veda Patil.  Veda means "sacred knowledge," giving that woman that name was an oxymoron if there ever was one.  The two had each recently gotten married, a circumstance which Lily had hoped would quell their boy-craziness and excitability that could only be described as "teeny-bopper-ness."  However, Lily was disappointed to find that these seemed to be permanent aspects of their collective personality...  Not even the threat of Voldemort could subdue their appetite for the frivolous.

            The two women ran excitedly up to her.  "Lily Rose Evans, get over here this instant!"

            _How?  Lily mentally rolled her eyes, __we're standing centimeters apart.  I'm sorry, I must be blind, I thought you just came over to me, geniuses.  She would have loved to have said that, but unfortunately she was in a rather precarious situation here, and it wouldn't be smart to upset people she might need on her side.  Sighing in surrender, Lily decided to play along unconvincingly.  "What?"_

            "We've heard some things about you…" the two chirped conspiratorially.

            _As if I care.  "Like what?  Have I finally worked my way out of that prostitution ring you had me in last?"_

            Missing the snap entirely, the two twittered on.  "Oh don't be ridiculous, Lil!  No, no, no, we heard that James left you for a midget dwarf in Tahiti and you've been sleeping with Gilderoy Lockhart ever since!  Is it true?  Is he good in bed?  Is…"

            _A midget_ dwarf_?__  When were they ever tall?  This one's right up there with wet water, hot fire, dark blackness, and cold ice.  Lily grinned and imitated their tone.  "As if James would ever prefer a midget dwarf to me."  She showed them her ring finger, "Here's your answer."_

            "Oh my God, Veda, look at the size of that thing!"

            Veda squealed with a liberal mix of joy and jealousy "I can't believe it! She's marrying Gilderoy Lockhart!"

            "No."  Lily couldn't suppress a long, indulgent eye roll.  Some people…  Unbelievable.  "No, James and I are engaged."

            "You mean he realized he couldn't live without you, left the midget dwarf, and came crawling to you, begging you to take him back?"  Veda swooned.  "How romantic!"

            "No," Lily struggled to conceal a groan, "there was never any midget dwarf."

            "So it was just you and Gilderoy then," Veda continued.  "Why'd you leave Gilderoy for someone like James?"

            "What's wrong with James?" she demanded defensively.

            "Oh, nothing," Guinevere replied, "it's just that he's so…  He's such…  He's such an idealistc goody-two-shoes.  He'd never do anything bad.  No sex appeal."

            "Well," Lily huffed indignantly, "I happen to think it's very sexy."

            "Suit yourself."

            "Yeah," Veda whispered to the other half of her brain, "I always said she was a little sick in the head."

            Guinevere ignored her friend.  "You find that sexy?  A man who would never touch you until you walked down the aisle?"

            Lily raised her eyebrows.  _A man who would never touch her until they had walked down the aisle?  What little these women knew.  She was about to correct Guinevere and inform her that James in fact had no such qualms, but she then remembered the pregnancy test in her plastic bag, and figured maybe it would be best to leave them in ignorance.  After all, who knew what they would say if they unveiled the contents of the chemist's bag in her left hand?  Either she'd be having Gilderoy Lockhart's baby or she'd raped James or…  Well, she didn't want to think about what else they might come up with.  No, it was better to let them think what they wanted , that way less questions would be asked and she could get out of there sooner, if she told them the truth, she knew she'd have a better chance escaping Azkaban than she would these two._

            She found, awaking from her moment of thoughtful distance, that Veda and Guinevere were happy to continue theorizing about her, right in front of her, and without her.  "It's the forbidden fruit concept," Veda said intellectually, or, rather, as intellectually as she could manage.

            "No," Guinevere continued, "That's what she needed Gilderoy for, dimwit!"  She remembered that Lily was there.  "Isn't that so, Lily?  So, why'd you leave Gilderoy, was the sex bad?"

            Lily grinned evilly, realizing that these two would hear only what they wanted to hear.  _Oh well, if you can't beat 'em, might as well join 'em.  "Oh no…  He was the best I've ever had, in fact," she fixed Guinevere with a hard stare, "but there was one problem…  He kept calling your name in bed."  As she watched the priceless looks on their faces she thought she'd never in her entire life found it more difficult to keep a straight face.  Guinevere was gaping at Lily and Veda was shooting bitterly jealous and scandalized glares at Guinevere.  Lily took this opportunity to step around them.  As she passed, she whispered to them conspiratorially, "Don't tell my boss though, he thinks he's the only one I've been shagging."_

            The two women's eyes were fixed buggily on her.  "Who's your boss?"

            "The Minister of Magic.  Didn't you know?  I'm an intern at the Ministry."  

With that, Lily strode away quickly to the apparition station, apparated to her flat, and fell down laughing on the sofa.  "Priceless," she giggled.

**~**~_~**~_~**~**

            It had been several hours since she had found the test results positive, and even more since she had stopped laughing.  Momentarily detached, she thought _Interesting, isn't it?  __Aurora__ told me not to even bother with it, and so as a result, to see if she had been right, I did exactly what she told me not to?  Interesting indeed._

            It was then that James crossed the threshold of her doorway.  He was smiling cheerfully at her as he crossed the room.  "You called?"  The instant he saw her face, however, his grin faltered.  "What is it, Lily?"

            He looked down at her from the other side of her small coffee table.  Lily had tried for the longest time to think of _some_ way of telling him…  But her desperate mind had failed her, and all she could think of were dots…  Large dots, small dots, purple dots, green dots, dots of every size and color, all the fuzzy dots that has been clouding her head and her vision these past few hours.  She stood up and drew him downwards and pulled him to sit next to her.  She discovered she didn't know what to do with her hands, so she grabbed his.  It was horribly cliché, she knew, but she was feeling neither original nor clever at the moment.  Cliché would have to do.

            "What happened?"

            Lily realized just how long she had been sitting there silently.  "I, er – well, I…  I have to tell you something."  Her voice wobbled as she spoke and simultaneously tried to think of the right way to put this…  

            He gave her a small smile.  "Yes, I realized that.  C'mon Lil, out with it, don't be ridiculous."  He kissed her neck and smirked up at her foolishly, batting his eyelashes in the fashion of Veda and Guinevere.  "I promise I won't bite.  See?"

She promptly discovered that there was no right way.  So she just said it.  "James, I'm pregnant."

That shut him up.  He went rigid and simply stared out into the distance.  She thought he was simply pausing briefly with shock and realization, but when his eyes started to lose focus, she worried that perhaps he had forgotten to breathe.  "James.  You are alive, you know…  You do remember that, right?"

His eyes snapped back into focus. All he said was "Oh."

_Oh?  She hadn't imagined him being thrilled with the news, but she had hoped for something slightly more comforting and glamorous than __Oh.  _

"You're sure?"

"Positive."

No, this was most certainly not nearly as she had hoped it would be.  Earlier, she had been nervous.  Now she was scared.  Really scared.  And feeling alone in this.  And not much beyond the truly terrifying could shake Lily Evans that way.  She was even trembling physically at that very moment.

"When?"

"Halloween, it would seem."

And then he smiled again. His eyes misted over a little bit and he said simply, "Yeah, Halloween, great night that was.  I'll never forget Halloween."  His grin grew.

"James!"  She punched him playfully, "Snap out of it you fool!"

"Sorry," he replied through his smile, before retaining focus.  He fixed her piercingly with his chocolate colored eyes.  "Look," he said, in a soft tone Lily did not usually hear from him when in the company of others.  "The wedding is on New Year's, that's only three weeks away…  So we'll just have a baby a little bit sooner than we would have planned."

_Yeah, try a few years sooner.  "James, what're we going to do?"_

He drew her into his arms.  "We'll figure it out, I'm certain of it.  Everything will be alright.  We'll be okay…  We'll pull through together."

"Promise?"

"I promise."

**~**~_~**~_~**~**

            It was dusk.  Lucius kicked the little girl, (was Brenna her name?) into a line with all the other Mudblood children and looked around, surveying his handiwork.  The common, filthy muggle houses were still blazing, and the bodies were marvelously displayed.  "Excellent job, everyone," he addressed the hunting party, "one of the most successful raids I've yet seen.  Meet me at the tavern at midnight, and I'll buy you all a drink or two…  Or twenty."  The hooded men hurrahed and Lucius sneered at their baseness.  Little did he know, at the very same moment, the aristocrats of Australia were sneering down at him and his baseness from their comfortable position in their observational tower.

            He was clever, they would have to give him that.  The Jewish man had been crucified, that was a particularly brilliant, if not gruesome, stroke of genius.  The curly-haired Catholic woman was hanging naked and partially dismembered from a tree.  

She had been the last to die…  The hunters had each had quite a bit of fun with her.  Lucius in particular seemed to take great pleasure in having her as her dying husband watched, screaming in agony, threatening him with all he could what he would do to him once he broke free, his eyes crying out in a pain Lucius had never seen, but enjoyed very much.  This man, whatever his name was, knew that he was going to die, and there was nothing he could do to save or protect the one he loved.  There is a certain mark knowledge like that leaves on the eyes.  Lucius had removed the silencing charm off of his muggle prey shortly after he had bound them…  How he loved to hear them scream.  There was no sport in silence.

Alina Petranni, six years old and standing powerlessly immobile as Lucius had left her, watched the lifeless, bloodied corpses all around her.  She thought maybe if she looked at them long enough, hard enough, they would start moving again.  Maybe then they would sit up and start breathing, and wipe off all the blood and dirt.  Maybe then they would laugh and tell her that it's okay, they weren't really hurt, they hadn't really died…  That it had all been pretend.  All that screaming and crying and twitching was just for show.  She believed that maybe then everything would be okay, but somewhere she knew that it wasn't.  It was all real, and here she stood, helpless, without the power to do anything about it.  She hadn't even shut her eyes while it all happened.  Because she couldn't help it, something in her wanted to see.  And she knew that was wrong bad.  It was all her fault.  It had to be.

She was observing the appropriately blood red sky when Mister Malfoy approached her, grinning his scary shark's grin.  "Look at what you've done," he scolded her softly.  "Do you see?"  Tears were falling from her eyes and streaming down her frozen face.  "Oh, don't cry now child.  I know a way we can fix this and make it all better…  It'll keep you out of trouble, because you know what your daddy would do to you if he discovers what you've done."  At this point there seemed to be more tears than flesh.  He pointed his wand at her and leaned in close.  "I'm going to take away the memory of this place and all that happened here.  In your waking hours you shan't be able to recollect any of this…  But you must understand, I can't excuse you entirely, you see…  You must be punished for your crime...  And so this memory shall never truly leave you.  No, you will be absent of it in your waking moments, but it will visit you again at night, in your dreams, for all the days of your life."

He said some strange words.  She saw a bright light…  And then everything went black.

Suddenly Alina opened her eyes to find herself in a strange, empty field.  She stood up, brushed herself off, and found her father approaching her.  "Has Malfoy behaved himself?"  Her father stared her down, awaiting an answer.  

She stammered, frightened of him and what might befall her if she delayed him too long.  She thought hard, but the last thing she remembered was seeing her father leave, so she guessed everything must have been alright…  And the only way to keep herself safe from her father's wrath was to give him an answer that pleased him.  "I suppose you could say that."

"Very well then," he smiled, as he surveyed a long line of children before him.  He smiled down at her.  "These are some of the wild Muggle-born children we have saved, Alina.  Whichever of these you choose you shall have as your closest personal servant.  Which one do you want, Alina?"

He was smiling at her.  She smiled back, happy to see a grin on her father's face.  She looked the long line of children up and down and felt instantly attached to a small dark-haired girl of apparently Maori descent.  She pointed.  "I want this one father, this one shall be mine."

Demetrius fixed a wrist-leash to the child of his daughter's choosing and brought her out to Alina.  Alina grinned happily at the little girl like a newfound playmate.  "I shall call you Branwen."

**~**~_~**~_~**~**

            A small, dark haired girl of thirteen years and Maori descent stood out on a desolate New Zealand plain, surveying the foundations of what would have a small but lovely home, she imagined.  She could not remember much about it, but she knew that she had been happy here at some point.  She could not remember her parents' names.  She could not remember even her own true birth name.  

            "I am free, Tzipora," whispered Branwen.  "I am free, and I know you must be out there somewhere, and I shall find you.  I promise."

**~**~_~**~_~**~**

**Little Disclaimer:  "The Story of Us" is the name of a movie that I saw a long time ago, and liked a lot.  This chapter, however, has nothing to do with the movie, I just liked the way the title sounded.  Aurora's line "_With evil all around me, _****how can I keep myself sane and whole and moderate?"  is from Sophocles' Electra.  There's probably something else in there that I don't own, but I don't remember what it is, so if you see something, let me know and I'll disclaim that too.**

**Little A/N:  **

Just to make sure you understand all the time/space jumping here, this is how it goes (section by section):

November 23, 1986 (early morning, shortly after dawn) / New Zealand  à   January/February 1448 - daytime / Hogwarts   à   December 10, 1979 - morning / a hallway somewhere in London   à  1448 – later that evening / Hogwarts   à   December 10, 1979 – later that afternoon / from Muggle London to the Leaky Cauldron to Diagon Alley   à   December 10, 1979 – later that evening / Lily's apartment, wherever that is   à   November 23, 1986 – dusk / rural New Zealand   à   Fic Present (A.K.A: September 1995) / rural New Zealand

So now we know how the Australian magical elite gets its muggle-born servants.

And just so you know, we are going to see more of all these characters later on, and what is not explained here will eventually be explained somewhere down the line.  So don't yell at me for not being more specific in certain areas.


End file.
